Shades of Color
by Lionpawheart
Summary: She is an assassin and thief who never wanted the responsibility for either guilds. He is the enthusiastic Dragonborn Hero, out to save the world and right all wrongs. Co-operation is crucial for survival, but trust is impossible.
1. Prologue

A/N: I just couldn't resist, alright! Major spoilers for Skyrim ahead...

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Below the cliffs of Solitude,_The Katariah_ was setting sail under Azura's morning light. Everyone breathed with relief- the assassination of the Emperor's decoy was too close for comfort. And not everyone believed that the Dark Brotherhood was truly dead. After all, the band send to destroy their sanctuary never came back, either…

But that was all over. For the few days at sea, they could relax. The Emperor would be safe, at least until they reached their homeland. Cyrodiil didn't lack assassins, of course, but it would still be good to be on familiar ground.

Everyone was so caught up in their sighs and wine that no one noticed the shadow that slipped into the Emperor's cabin.

No one heard sound of an enchanted blade entering an old man's heart, nor his final breath, nor the quiet thud as he hit his desk.

And if they didn't notice any of that, then of course no one could have possibly seen the figure that stepped out onto the balcony.

The woman leaned onto the rails, and took a deep breath, reveling in the cold, salty sea breathe. She had a few minutes, she knew, if not hours. And it wasn't often that she got a moment to enjoy the satisfaction of a beautiful kill. The pleasure of adrenaline. The high that was better than any imported drug.

"I killed the Emperor," she sang quietly to the skies. "I killed the _Emperor!_"

The woman broke out in silent laughter. The blood dripped from her hand into the water.

The message was sent, the Night Mother was honored, and now, she could finally go home...

No one on board heard the quiet splash caused by her dive.

* * *

><p>Somewhere on the other side of Skyrim at the exact same moment that the assassin plunged into the water, a man emerged from a cave.<p>

He stood on the rock beside it, viewing the scene with a grin. Magnificent thing: those mountains. Tall and towering, white and ivory, the peaks getting lost somewhere in the clouds. Surrounded by white blazed trees, with snow lightly showering from above, adding motion to the peaceful stillness.

Beautiful. Completely worth the journey, the man nodded to himself. And such an interesting one at that! His first day in Skyrim, and he already walked into an ambush, put his head on the executioner's block, came within a moment of death, and then was saved by a bloody _dragon _attack. Lost his favorite axe, walked though a burning fort, killed giant spiders and an even larger bear, and then finally came out behind Ralof out into the freedom of the mountains and a _stunning _view.

"I think I'm going to like it here," he grinned, his mood almost impossibly high for someone who just faced death and survived not once, but at least five times within the last hour.

Then again, _Bruma _never had any dragons.

"And I think Skyrim will like you," Ralof called from the trail. "Come along now, before that dragon comes back to knock you off that horse!"

The man laugh, sheathed his new (looted) great sword, and strode after the Stormcloak.

Forwards, onto the adventures ahead!


	2. The Listener and the Hero

Important Notice (not really, but you probably won't notice this bit anyway): So, yes, I'm taking a break from Eden, because let's face it, I'm just stalling with her at this point. Onto new characters, a new universe, and a fresh start. Here's a full and proper summary:

_She is the Listener who's been running non-stop since leaving her nest, now out to rebuild the Brotherhood after Astrid's betrayal. Meanwhile, the End of the World is approaching, and the Dragonborn, a willing hero seeking adventure is trying to stop it. With the civil war and the sudden new threats, too many sides are getting involved… and what's underneath it all?_

So, final note, this will be mainly Listener-centric and written in a slightly different manner than before. I'll be breaking the events into "episodes", and we'll see how that goes. So, here goes the warm-up. Enjoy :D.

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><p><span>The Listener and the Hero<span>

The sanctuary was enveloped by silence, broken only by the occasional gust of wind that traveled the halls, playfully chiming on the broken glass. It peeked around the corners and carried strayed snowflakes from the cave to the quiet assassins.

Nazir was reading and the dinner table, Babette working on the other end of it. Before, this quiet time would have been used by the Redguard to sort through paperwork, but considering the recent change in management, there was no paper to speak of. Actually, there wasn't much in the sanctuary in general- just the furniture that they managed to scavenge from the ruins. That included the table he was sitting at, a handful of chairs and an old bookcase which everyone treated gingerly and with caution, getting ready for the rot to finally break the wood into pieces.

Babette was at her makeshift alchemy station, her small face looking over the scarce ingredients with some despair. They haven't had the chance to stock up on supplies, either, and the contrastingly small variety of material (compared to what she had access to in the last sanctuary) was beginning to frustrate the vampire. She eventually gave up, and climbed onto the chair opposite of Nazir.

"This won't do," she said. "I picked the nightshade from the front, but I barely have enough deathbells to come up with even the simplest poisons." She sighed. "I miss home."

Nazir looked up from his book and smiled sadly. "As do I. But we'll have better luck scraping scales off an angry dragon than trying to clear out that mess. Everything was burned and most of it collapsed."

"I know. I just still can't wrap my head around it. How could this have happened?" The ancient child never looked more like her frozen age- lost, and looking for an adult's hand for guidance. "We've been here for weeks, and I just can't seem to understand."

"It's no use to dwell on it now," the Redguard declared, though there was little confidence in his voice. "Our Brothers and Sisters are with Sithis now, and we're still here. We must focus on restoring this place and rebuilding the Brotherhood."

Easier said than done. All the psychotic playfulness has been taken out of their family, and grieving was hanging over their heads like a gray, damp cloud. Even the Emperor's assassination didn't serve to lift anyone's spirits permanently. The only laughter in the sanctuary came from the mad jester, though even his mirth was sometimes tinged with a bitter edge. He did not care for any of them in his brief stay at their sanctuary, but he felt the near loss of the entire Brotherhood just as sharply.

Cicero's existence in their sanctuary after his "incident" was somewhat of an avoided topic. Babette seemed happy enough to welcome just about anyone from their now small family, no matter how insane or irritating they were, but even she was not eager to be around him. Nazir's contempt for the fool was obvious, but quiet, and he preferred to pretend that Cicero simply wasn't there.

"She's been up there for a while now," Babette suddenly said, looking upwards.

They both looked up to where the stone coffin that contained the crooked remains of the Night Mother was standing, tucked away into the corner of the hall. And in front of it, waiting in complete silence, was the Listener herself.

There was a dose of fascination that came from watching Léta in those moments. She stood with her arms crossed and a hip leaning onto the wall, her steel gray eyes trained on the corpse. Nazir could guess that her expression was neutral, without the awe expected of her by Cicero, but without the skepticism that Arnbjorn used to glance at the coffin with. The silent communication with the Night Mother was a mystery to the rest of them, as the woman never spoke of it, only outlining the point of the message.

The one blessing of those moments, though, was that Cicero shut up, backed off into the shadow and didn't dare interrupt the conversation with his insane mumbling.

As though she heard Babette, Léta eased off the wall and gave a short bow to the coffin, signaling the end of that session. Rolled her shoulders, let out an audible sigh, and then came downstairs to join Babette and Nazir at the dining table.

The woman was an Imperial with dark brown hair that was tied off into a tight ponytail and normally warm gray eyes, though at the moment they looked more like dark, cold metal. Her skin has long since turned pale as the snows of Skyrim, and her narrow jaw line and tilted eyes were one of the only remains of her heritage. She had bitten and chapped lips, and not a trace of make up anywhere on her face. Not lately, anyway- she simply forgot those small rituals with everything that's been going on for weeks now.

"So?" the Redguard was the first to speak. Léta blinked, and wiped a hand over her face as though clearing cobwebs. Her eyes warmed up, and her face regained a bit of blush and she even managed a smile. It wasn't the Night Mother that drained her, everyone knew; the woman was exhausted, but always pretending otherwise.

"So, what? Contracts. Black Sacrament. All that."

"Is something wrong?" Babette tilted her head to the side, peering at the woman's face. "Did the Mother name you friends?"

"No- the contracts seem fairly standard."

"Then what's the problem?"

Léta hesitated slightly before answering. "She reminded me of our traditions."

That hung in the air for a few seconds before Babette spoke up, her voice thoughtful. "The traditional tenets and the Black Hand, you mean."

"Yes- but the way Astrid went on about them-"

"Astrid tried her hardest to survive when the Dark Brotherhood nearly failed," Nazir shook his head. Her betrayal was still a harsh memory, and forgiveness was a difficult thing to achieve, even amidst their questionable standards. "As she said in her last prayer, the Night Mother is right. These traditions have sustained the Brotherhood for a long time, and it can again."

"Well then…" Léta rubbed her head, leaning onto the table. "I- to be perfectly honest, I'm not even sure where to even begin."

"Well, then, get sure," Nazir put some strength in his voice. "Right now, it's important to stay focused. And perhaps this is the best time to start anew, anyway, while it is only three of us here."

"Don't forget Cicero! Oh, yes, I am still here!" the clown wandered to the room. Léta looked him sourly, but didn't shun him. "I still serve! There are five of us, not three!"

"Who- oooh, the Night Mother, of course," Babette did the math in her head. "Well, before we even think of reestablishing the Black Hand, we need recruits. And before we can get any recruits, we need furniture. And food. And books… And an alchemy table would be nice…"

"I'm heading to Riften tonight," Léta nodded. "The contract is there, and I'll be able to speak with Delvin on getting some repairs done on this place, like you suggested. You _could_ clean out the garbage in the meantime, you know. Or at least get some throw pillows."

That got a collective laugh out of everyone: the first one they shared since their home fell around them.

"We should start recording the contracts again. Now that the Black Sacrament can be heard, there shouldn't be any shortage of them..." Nazir noted. "It's a simple matter," he quickly assured her when her face started to fall. "Usually, the clients have the contracts ready and waiting for us, and all you need to do is collect. They rarely want lengthy discussions."

"So it's settled them," Léta nodded, getting up. "I will ride south. Babette, work on getting some supplies here. Nazir, I want you to handle the second name I heard. It's in Solitude, so not exactly on my way. Besides, I think its best I avoid that place for a few weeks, let them forget my face."

"Of course." It would be a nice change of pace, the Redguard decided. He spent a few years handing the contracts out to the other members, rarely ever venturing out on his own. Couldn't afford to get rusty, not now.

"You sure you want to be riding right now?" Babette asked with concern. "At least wait until morning. We wouldn't want to lose the Listener when she falls off her horse."

"The _last_ thing I need is to stop moving right now," Léta shrugged it off, already walking away. "I'll rest on the way."

"And Cicero will stay here!" The Jester announced. "I'll take care of our dearest Mother while you're all away!"

"I suppose there's no harm to it…" Léta sighed, pausing in her step, though she did not look convinced. "Though I have to ask you to refrain from trying to kill any of us." There was bitter sarcasm on her tongue.

"Oh, I would never! You are the Listener, and we are- yes we are- children of the Night Mother again! No pretenders here, we all serve!"

"I would feel safer if _he _was the one locked up in a stone coffin, though," Nazir muttered lowly, watching the clown's retreating back. "Léta, I trust you, but can you explain to me why you left the fool alive?"

The woman got out a coin from her pocket and started twirling it in her fingers- a nervous tick. "Lucien."

"The spirit Astrid gave you?" Nazir looked skeptical.

"Yes- while I was here, Lucien told me that something was off. Cicero was chosen as the Keeper for the Mother I am a Listener to, and I should have faith in that."

"So you disobeyed an order from Astrid because your ghost told you so?" Nazir didn't like the sound of that.

Léta winced. "I never said it was an easy decision. My loyalty was to Astrid before it was to the matron, and I wanted to kill him for harming our Brother. But if Sithis wanted him alive… I thought if the clown persisted, there would always be time to kill him later."

"I see." Nazir nodded, still in a bit of unease. "And if the night Mother asks that you kill him now?"

The "_or us" _went unsaid, but heard.

Léta bit her lip. "I like to think that she wouldn't unless she had good reason to. I- I only spoke to her a handful of times, but she seems to know what she's doing. And I don't think she would ask the slaughter of her children. She really does seem like the maternal kind."

"What about the Purification rituals?" Babette raised her face, her eyebrows furrowing. "Those demand the cleansing of everyone in a sanctuary to eliminate a single traitor."

"There are no traitors here. Cicero was loyal- just not to Astrid."

"It doesn't matter now," he decided. "We will just have to learn to trust the Night Mother again."

"Right. Lucien said that the last performed Purification was not the Night Mother's will. She asked for an investigation to find the traitor, and the rest was work of treachery and persuasion."

"You spend a lot of time listening to your ghost," Nazir raised an eyebrow.

Leta smiled. "He has a lot to say. He was, after all, a Speaker." She suddenly frowned. "Whatever that means."

"He spoke," Babette shrugged. "To contracts, to recruits, to the other Speakers… He was the link between his sanctuary and the Listener."

"Don't think we need a link yet," Leta was herself again, her confidence returning. That was much better- now, more than ever, they needed her usually solid attitude. "I suppose let's just focus on returning this sanctuary to life."

"Don't forget the alchemy station!"

* * *

><p>Delvin stared grimly into his cup. "What the hell is this swill."<p>

Vekel glanced at the drink, and shrugged. "Valenwood Rotmeth."

"Uh-huh. And why in Oblivion is it in my hands?"

"I'll get you some mead," the man rolled his eyes, taking the mug out of the thief's hands and heading off to the bar.

Before he could get far, though, the cup was sneaked out of his hands. The woman sat down at Delvin's table in the same smooth notion and took a sip.

"It's really not so bad, you know."

"Now there was the first damned thing that went right today! You're a sight for sore eyes, you know that?"

"Bad day?" she wiggled her fingers in the air, her face hidden by the cup.

"Worst one I've have in months," he confessed. "And I get the feeling you're about to make it worse. I heard about the raid."

"Did you, now?" her voice was carefully neutral. "Astrid is dead. So is Arnbjorn, Veezara, Gabriella, and Festus. Oh, and Liz, Babette's spider."

Delvin was fully expecting the words, but it still made him wince. "Looks like that blighter did a number on you."

"Don't worry, I did a number on him, too," her voice was still void of any emotion, but a slightly twisted smirk appeared on her lips.

"I should have known you'd make it, though. You always did have a tendency to survive all odds."

"Whatever life throws," she agreed, swirling the drink in the cup and then took another thoughtful sip. "We have a new sanctuary. The one under Dawnstar. Ancient piece of work, but it still holds. Something I can't say for the furniture in it…"

He got the hint quickly. "You got the gold, I can get the place fixed up for you in no time. Just say the word."

"I have the gold…" she put her chin onto her fist, looking at the table. "Big client, you know. There was swimming involved."

"Don't tell me! The Emperor- that was you?" Delvin really wasn't so surprised; the work had her marks all over it. The fact that no one knew anything was amiss until five hours into the journey, for one. And for two, it was noted in the paper that the room was looted of everything valuable, and a bloody handprint was left in the middle of the table as a message. A very _loud _message, one that scared everyone to the point of wet trousers.

"_The Dark Brotherhood, alive, kicking, and able to kill the Emperor right under your nose, so don't try another stupid stunt with eradication ever again."_

"I'm admitting to nothing," she smiled, regaining her usual cheek as soon as the subject wandered off of the destruction of the Brotherhood.

"How much money was that one worth?" Considering the trinket she brought him last time…

"Oh, no-no-no, I tell you that and you'll rip off every last coin I earned, and I have three hungry mouths to feed!"

"You didn't manage to get rid of the rest of them, then?"

"Don't even joke about it," she jerked her shoulder, immediately retreating into her shell. "And you don't even want to know what condition Astrid was in when I slit her throat… Don't look at me like that, it was a mercy killing. And in any case… in any case…" She trailed off, before shrugging. "I suppose I can't stay mad at her. As they say, the road to the Void is paved with good intentions…"

"To Oblivion, Léta. The road to the Void is paved with anything but."

"Good point." She chuckled bitterly, and then downed the remaining wine in one swallow. "This _is _horrible. But back to business…"

"I'll have to see it for myself before I can make any sort of call," he shrugged. "It _will _cost you pretty penny, though, so let's hope you got your money's worth for the Emperor."

"How much?"

He thought about it, and then named the price.

She didn't look surprised and she didn't argue, instead reaching into her bag. Two by two, there were soon ten fat, jingling purses sitting on the table in front of him. Every eye in the underground tavern was turned towards them like starving hounds.

"The rest is in the sanctuary. Will this be enough to get started?"

"More than enough." He nodded. They sat in comfortable silence for a minute, and then he asked, "Ever think of coming back to us full-time? Especially now that- well…"

"Technically, I never left." She narrowed her eyes. "But I can't settle for being a peaceful thief now."

"Why not? I did," he didn't mean to try and talk her into it, but it slipped out.

"That's cause even in the Brotherhood, you were a thief," she laughed that heavy, bitter laugh that had settled in her for the last three weeks. Or maybe even longer than that. "I was an killer in waiting the whole time."

"So, what, you think you'll kill someone instead of robbing them?"

"I might be tempted to, and when I do, it would not be accidental," she rolled her shoulders, and leaned back onto the chair, staring at the questionable substance on the ceiling. "Besides, I'm trying to keep afloat as it is. Half the time, I don't even know what I'm doing, and those three look at me as though just because I hear a dead woman's voice in my head, I have all the answers."

"And to think, if you hear those words coming out of anyone else's mouth, they'd be locked away in some monastery." Delvin grinned, and Léta broke out in bitter laughter. "Then again, the Brotherhood is the best collection of madmen Tamriel has to offer."

"Oi! Well, true, I guess. It's not much of a collection anymore, though, with just the four of us left. Ah well, I gotta be off. I still have an errand in the city. Send Brynjolf my best."

"Tell him yourself," he snorted, jerking his head over her shoulder.

Léta visibly paled, and fell back into the chair she was just getting out of.

"Looks like you didn't manage to avoid me this time, bird."

She slowly turned around, and gave the man an unenthusiastic smile.

"Why would you think I'm avoiding you?"

"Well, perhaps the look on your face right now…" The man looked cross, like a stern parent that finally caught their brat in the deed of stealing pie filling. "What, am I not important enough for you anymore?"

Léta bit her lip, and then suddenly shook the cornered look off, plastering on a professional smile. Delvin grinned into his mug. It took a bit more than that to shake her out of her cool for too long.

"Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair soon enough. Wouldn't want anyone to get upset with my presence."

Brynjolf waved it off. "I'm not talking about that, lass."

"Don't tell me you actually missed me. That's so sweet," she laughed, getting up. "Well, I have bigger fish to fry, and I'd rather not spend another hour here getting lectured by you. Ta!"

She picked up her bag, and walked past him. Brynjolf clenched his jaw, and looked as though he was about to stop her, but Delvin stopped him.

"Let her go unless you want that hand cut off. The girl's grown into herself."

"So I've noticed." The unofficial leader of the Thieves Guild sighed. "She _has _been avoiding me, hasn't she?"

"Duh. She doesn't get that defensive for just anyone, you know."

"The girl can be infuriating to just about anyone," Brynjolf dropped into the vacated chair. "And the strangest part is that I did miss her."

"Pfft," Delvin shrugged. "Everyone misses her. More importantly, they miss the coin she brought in. But in case you haven't noticed, we're not exactly helpless without her here, especially since you got rid of Mercer."

"_Léta_ got rid of Mercer."

"And then _Léta _decided she liked killing better than just thieving. So what? She's not the last girl in the world. Hell, Karliah pro'bly can give her a run for her money. And tell you what, the only thing I'm curious about is how Sithis and Nocturnal are going to play tug-of-war with her soul when she finally slips up."

"Do you have to know everything?" Brynjolf grimaced. Delvin smirked. Did the man honestly think that erecting a statue of Nocturnal in the corner of their den would go unnoticed?"

"I have eyes and ears. For one thing, you hear that there's a Dragonborn running around doing good deeds now? Slaying dragons, helping rats out of sewers, running errands for old ladies…" the words were said with distaste. Criminals usually had a certain sense of contempt for the hero, honorable types. "Joined the Companions the second he stepped foot in Whiterun. Hasn't taken a side in the war yet, but my guess is that he's a "true son of the North" like the rest of the Stormcloaks."

"Is he going to be a problem?"

"He has enough of them bandits to keep him away from honest thieves. The boy's been around for three weeks, and he already cleared out more bands than the city watch of Solitude could manage in a year."

"Then why should we care?" Brynjolf waved his hand. "As long as he isn't knocking down our door, let him run around playing hero until some dragon bites his head off."

"Aye. Another thing, those damned dragons. The guards are all twitchy; Sapphire says she almost got caught out on the last job."

That summoned a concerned wrinkle between the thief's eyebrows. Only a slight one, though."Everyone gets caught sometimes. She should be thankful she's not in the dungeons right now rather than blaming dragons for her slip up."

"Whatever you say, boss," Delvin agreed easily.

"I'm not the boss here. We agreed."

Delving looked at him with impatience. "It's been a year since Mercer kicked it and Léta found other priorities. She only helps the Guild out when she has a client somewhere in the city. How long are you going to delude yourself that she'll come back to pick up the reigns?"

"Oblivion take that girl," Brynjolf cursed quietly, though there was a slight undertone of affection of a former mentor. "Left me to the wolves…"

"That she did," Delvin cheerfully toasted with his mug.

Vex suddenly joined into the conversation. "Rune says I missed her again! Well, the next time she decided to show up, remind her that she still owes me half the take from the last job!"

"Huh?"

"What?" She raised her eyebrow at Brynjolf's confusion. "We cleaned out the place in Whiterun four weeks ago, and she was supposed to deliver the trinket to the client and get our pay."

"She prob'ly forgot. Léta's not the type to scam the guild's money," Delvin rolled his eyes, not mentioning the fact that at the time Léta was likely galloping across Skyrim towards the sanctuary.

"She better have just forgot," Vex grumbled. "Don't know what's going on in that head of hers anymore."

"It's not as if you were the best of friends before..." Brynjolf noted. Vex was detached from everyone at best, doing business and partnering up for heists, but she rarely ever made friends. Everyone was long since used to the attitude.

"That's not the point. Your protégé is off wandering Talos knows where, and no one seems to mind. She used to actually stay the nights here, jumping at jobs as they come, and now we're lucky if she graces us with her presence once a fortnight! Not to mention she rejects more heists than she accepts, which is just plain inconvenient!"

Not everyone was happy about Léta's… detachment from the guild, and most of them didn't even know why it happened. She was still a member, so what was her problem?

But Delvin didn't care enough to wonder about what the others thought on the issue. Besides, the guild was already back on its feet, and coins were rolling in and _staying _in, so he didn't worry too much about the lost business. But it was enough that Brynjolf got that disappointed look any time he mentioned Léta's visits, and now Vex was complaining about the extra jobs she gave to Rune or Cynric instead of her, and for some reason both of them were doing it into _his _ears. Delvin's patience was beginning to bend.

"Would you both shut up, already?" he groaned. "If you want her back so badly, what the hell are you doing talking to me? She's probably still in Riften. Find her, tie 'er up, drag her back here, chain her to the damned statue. Better yet, give the girl time to get her head the right way on before you shove all your laundry runs on her."

When Vex looked as though she were about to argue, he decided that would be the perfect moment of bugger off.

* * *

><p>Brynjolf <em>did <em>find her before she left Riften, a few hours later. She was stalled by her "errands", the term she used outside the sanctuary for anything related to her job. She had put on her little charm necklace and sat beside the man on the bench. When he finally noticed her, he dropped the scroll behind the bench, waited a minute, and walked off. She remained to pick up the contract, and tucked it away into her bag. The process was starting to seem easier than previously expected.

It was already dusk when she came up to the stables, already cringing in expectancy of screaming. Shadowmere could stand almost unnaturally still when it suited her or her master, but whenever there were strangers around, she spitefully climbed or knocked down doors, tipped over the water basin or left very un-demonic waste, to the annoyance of stable boys. To her surprise, though, there was no angry horse master to yell at her about the number of fingers Shadowmere ate today. Instead, there was the Nightingale, leaning onto the wall beside her horse.

"Didn't we go over this?" Léta mumbled, clipping her bags to the saddle.

"I didn't look for you to get yelled at earlier, lass. I had a request."

"So talk." She rolled her shoulders, not even turning her face to him.

"You look like you've been running on stamina potions for a month without sleep, you know that?"

"You're not wrong. Get back to the point."

He shook his head with disapproval, but a glare from her convinced him to lay off.

"There were people asking questions at the Flagon-"

"People are always asking questions at the Flagon. What of it?"

"Let me finish, lass. They were looking for someone- it hardly matters now. What matters is that they never got a solid answer, and decided to kidnap Etienne."

Her hands froze. "Who were "they"?"

"Thalmor- very recognizable. I don't know why they were there, nor do I care, but they took one of our own."

"Where would they have taken him?" Léta finally looked at him.

"That's the rub- we don't know. They have bases in Solitude and Markarth, but I doubt they can interrogate properly where people can hear the screams. There is an Embassy outside of Solitude, though, which is a better bet. You might have to ask around, just do it quickly, before they decide they've exhausted Etienne. Usually I'd try to get something set up, but-"

"I'll get it done." She nodded, looking thoughtful. "You know, I was going to keep away from that corner of Skyrim for a while, but looks like I'll have to show my face again anyway…"

"Yes, your stunt with the Emperor… I've heard about that. Well, the whole Nirn would have heard of it by now…"

She tilted her nose up in defiance at his comment. "You have no idea the price we paid for that "stunt". I wasn't about to drop it. And for your information, that was one of the most artful jobs I have ever pulled."

"Killing the decoy was hardly 'artful'."

She waved her hand. "If Astrid- if the Commander didn't find out, it would have ran without a hitch. It _was _a good plan. And besides, you try killing the Emperor! It's hard work!"

"Uh-huh." He smiled, and she suddenly froze.

"You sly bastard," she turned to him, grinning what must have been the first genuine smile in weeks. "I can finally see how you manage to convince everyone that troll fat cures hair loss. You just couldn't let me storm off, could you?"

"What, and give you the last word? Not bloody likely," he laughed and then picked her up by the waist and lifted her into the saddle. Shadowmere shifted her red eyes at him in a menacing fashion that said "Proceed with extreme caution", but didn't move towards him. Yet. "Look… do _try_ to get Etienne out of there without too much noise? I don't care if you kill those glorified thugs, but the last thing we need is more attention from the Thalmor."

"Please, Brynjolf, I'm a professional," she snorted, and led her midnight of a horse to the road.

* * *

><p>Babette liked to think of herself as experienced. Three hundred years is a long time, after all. She has seen the end of the Third Era, and the Giant Dragon statue that towered in the Imperial city, heard the chants of different Emperors as they rose and fell, and travelled throughout Skyrim, Cyrodiil, and many other places in her line of work. There was little that could really surprise her, despite her casually feigned naiveté and childish quirks.<p>

And yet somehow, those centuries of experience did not restrain her shock as she watched a dragon swoop over the Dawnstar.

She could see it from the little island she stood on, where she followed the distinctive glow of the Nirnroot, but it dropped from her hands when she caught sight of the flying figure over-head. The monster circled in the sky, barely visible in the night's sky, and roared into the air overhead, not minding the arrows of the guardsmen one bit.

Suddenly, it stopped mid-scream, and then fell down to the village, landing somewhere out of sight.

Babette waited.

There smoke coming from the village, but it wouldn't last too long- the homes of Dawnstar were stone and built to outlast things like weather and fire. Once the straw on the roofs would burn out, the fires would end. Those smart enough to hide in their basements would outlast the attack, as well.

The dragon never rose again.

Perhaps it's feasting, Babette thought. Did dragons eat humans? In all the stories they did…

She picked up the fallen plants from the ground, shaking her head. What did it matter, anyway? The dragon couldn't get into the sanctuary… hopefully…

Yet the roars have stopped, as well.

Did someone _kill _it?

Now that would be interesting!

She entered the village cautiously, peering out from behind the stones. She was right in her earlier assessment- the houses were smoking, and one had a chunk missing out of it, but everything seemed to be just fine.

She pulled her hood down over her face, and walked between the houses, heading to the center, where everyone seemed to be gathered. The people stood in a crowd around a heap of white bones, which, from closer inspection, she realized was the dragon itself and not his meal leftovers.

Strange scene that created. There was not a hint of flesh or organs anywhere, yet the bones were set in perfect position, curled around itself almost like a napping cat.

"If I had not seen it myself, I would have never believed-"

"Where did it even _come _from?"

"By the Gods, my house…"

Eventually, though, the crowd began to thin out, most heading up the hill to the inn. Babette looked up, and realized that it was already lit and filled with people. The guards must have been celebrating.

"Child, you should go home to your mother," a stranger addressed her in a kind voice, and she carefully smiled, keeping her teeth to herself. "There's nothing to see here."

"But- dragon! It just swooped in! Wooosh! I never saw a dragon before! I just want to see if I can take a bone home, mother would be so excited!"

"Oh, all right, go ahead. But run home afterwards, before more fly in."

She nodded excitedly, and then ran to the skeleton. She really did want some bones from it, or maybe a scale or two. After all, it wasn't everyday that someone managed to kill a dragon- hells, it wasn't every era that a dragon was seen at all!

The bones did not break easily, or the figure would have already collapsed like a card house under its own weight. Babette had to use a surprising amount of force just to break off the joints from its leg. Then she picked up a few bloodied scales off of the ground- they must have been sliced off by someone's sword.

But whose?

She perked up her ears.

"…did you see those idiots shooting at it? As though the arrows could get even half way up there."

"I hoped it would be enough to chase it off."

"Pfha! If wood could scare off dragons, their return wouldn't be such a problem."

"Good thing that man was around. Did anyone catch his name?"

"No, but the guards took him to the tavern for a drink. You could go ask."

"Did you see the way he stabbed that dragon? Right through the skull, and the damned lizard stopped twitching!"

Babette was now _really_ starting to get curious.

* * *

><p>"And here's another to the man-"<p>

That "another" was now the tenth, as far as Voar could remember, but he still raised his own tankard with enthusiasm. After he poured it down his throat, he slammed it down onto the table under the drunken cheers around him.

And why shouldn't they cheer? In these vague, dangerous times, when the Emperor was killed on his own ship, the civil war threatened to tear the land into pieces and you had to start ducking for dragons, beating one down was as good excuse for celebration as any.

And celebration meant ale. Lots and lots of ale. Enough to stall him from getting to Solitude to meet Delphine…

"You're the hero, aren't you?"

He looked around with some confusion at the small voice, and then looked down. A little girl was looking up at him, with a curious expression. He felt an involuntary shiver- in the firelight, her eyes looked red.

"That I am! Do you want to see my sword?" Other children always asked to see it, so he assumed.

The girl smiled. "Oh, I can see it well enough from here."

Something about her unsettled him, though he couldn't put his finger on it through the drunken haze. He looked closer, examining the un-furred cloak and apothecary pouch that was slung over her shoulder. Nothing out of the ordinary except her apparent resistance to the cold outside… but the unease didn't go away. "Then run along, this isn't the place for a kid."

She wrinkled her nose for a moment. "What's your name, hero?"

That was a question he just _loved _answering. "Voar the Dragonborn!"

Around him, there was another wave of cheer.

The girl didn't look impressed or awed, though. Actually, she looked… calculating.

Creepy.

"Dragonborn. Huh."

And then she vanished, as though she was never there in the first place. He blinked, but then someone handed him another tankard, and he immediately pushed her out of him mind.

* * *

><p>Nazir had a lovely day, all things considered. The contact was an interestingly specific one, and those were always the favorites around their guild. "Any means necessary" quickly becomes routine, and those stringy clients were welcomed with open arms.<p>

Solitude was in mourning at the moment- the Emperor's death was felt here the hardest. The citizens were mostly dressed in subdued colors, women wore little jewelry and men drank in silence (at first, anyway). The Temple of the Divines was ringing with prayer, and the altars were overflowing with offerings. The guard patrols were redundantly tripled, though even the dumbest drunkard knew that if the assassin slipped past all of the Emperor's guards, there was no catching her.

Underneath the grief for the monarch, everyone was whispering about the Dark Brotherhood, though, and that put a smile on Nazir's face. Theories ranged from the simplest (and closest to the truth) that they were just doing their job, to the wildest conspiracies that included the Dominion, an underground organization of Khajiit drug dealers, and the return of the Mythic Dawn. How the three were interrelated, no one could remember after their fifth drink.

The Winking Skeever, where Nazir was staying, was the only place with any life and activity in the city, living up to its reputation as the single inn of Solitude. Men remained men, and mer remained mer, no matter who died: the music the bard was wringing out of her lute barely managed to outdo the raised voices.

Nazir turned towards the barkeep, and smiled.

"So, what was that all that about the Dragonborn?"

The man was more than happy to indulge in gossip.

"He's storming through Skyrim like a hurricane. I heard he was an escaped prisoner, caught with the Stormcloaks at the border. Guess you never know about people, eh?"

"Why is everyone so sure he's the Dragonborn?" Nazir asked.

"He absorbs the dragons' souls… or so they say, anyways. But you heard the Graybeard summoning him- I don't think there was anyone that didn't. That happens once every never, so it's safe to say they aren't making mistakes."

"_Perfect. Just what Skyrim needs: a hero." _The assassin thought to himself, though it was with little sarcasm. Dragons were not part of any healthy business, their trading in death included. The boy would run around for a bit, rally up some hope, maybe save the world like those types tended to do on occasion… meanwhile, everyone will forget about the assassinated Emperor and the Dark Brotherhood…

"Last I heard, he's heading to Solitude," Corpulus continued chatting, not even noticing that Nazir was barely paying any attention anymore. "Either to join the Legion or on… on… Dragonborn business or something."

Now that _was _interesting. And very worth investigation…


	3. Lesson Number One

A/N: As I may have mentioned previously, this is a warm-up and character study, for which I picked a familiar mission.

* * *

><p><span>Lesson Number One- Don't Trust a Criminal<span>

Léta always thought that Solitude was a beautiful city, in its own way. High buildings and cobbled streets reminded her vaguely of the Imperial City. If anyone who didn't know her asked about it, though, she would smile and spin you a tale on how it was home away from Cyrodil and that if she closed her eyes she could pretend she was still in the Imperial City.

In reality, she held no such sentiment. She simply found the capital to be more like an actual city rather than an overgrown village with walls like most of the other strongholds. Solitude, like it's cousin in Cyrodiil, was favored by many assassins and thieves for its little alleys, and the manholes that led into the sewers, the dark shadows of the torches during nighttime and the hundreds of different ways of getting outside the walls without notice. The houses were easily scaled, and the tiled roofs provided good support. Not to mention the walkways of city walls themselves… Remembering the little race against the city guards after the assassination of Vittoria Vici still gave the woman a thrill.

The city also had its own share of shady characters, and that meant that not many people looked closely to the cloaked woman sitting at the farthest corner table of the Winking Skeever. She sat with her back at the wall, facing the entire room, which was a professional habit that was almost like a calling card of seasoned criminals.

"Come to check up on me?" Nazir's mouth barely moved when he sat down at the table next to her. Not that anyone would overhear them amidst the usual chaos of the tavern.

"How did you know I was in Solitude?" she smiled under her hood.

"Your horse is scaring the locals at the stable, and the Skeever is the only inn in the city. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same thing. You were supposed to meet with the client four days ago. I would have figured you got back to the sanctuary to boast about a job well done."

"I got held up. Are you going to answer my question?"

There was a coin playing in her hand. "Thalmor Embassy. I need to get in, as quickly as possible."

"You have a remarkable sense for timing," he glanced at her with curiosity. "My target is going to be attending a party there. Actually, the conditions were very specific for tonight. "

"That so?" the coin faltered and hid back in her pocket, and she looked up at him. "How?"

"The Thalmor Embassy is usually locked up tighter than the Emperor's concubines." Nazir elaborated. "No one comes in without invitation. Luckily, our client was smart enough to know that, and secured one. For tonight, my name is Alamand, an ambassador of one sort or another."

"Don't suppose you can get me inside?"

"Not officially. But I did have a plan that might work out in your favor… Come along, I'll show you."

* * *

><p>To say that Voar was uncomfortable was to say nothing. The clothes likely looked just as out of place on him as they felt in contrast to his armor. By Oblivion, even Delphine looked as though she was trying to suppress a fit of laughter, looking over him.<p>

"Oh, I suppose it will have to do. You should at least pass for a guest… until you open your mouth, anyway."

"This better be worth it," he growled.

"Don't worry, you'll be back in your armor soon enough," the woman assured him. "Now, you better get going. That carriage will take you straight to the party… Try to get out in one piece, will you?"

"Dare you even doubt," he calmed down somewhat, though he still pouted like a frustrated child, but followed her instruction and climbed inside the carriage. The driver glanced back and nodded at him in greeting, and a few moments later, the horses sneered and began to move.

The road was bumpy despite the cobble, though at the very least he didn't clank and jingle with every start. He leaned back onto the side of the carriage, already bored. He could have at least walked there- sitting immobile for the time it would take them to get there was almost painful.

Movement along the road.

Voar tilted his head. Yes, there was definitely someone moving at the slow speed of the carriage. His eyebrows furrowed. Travelers didn't usually walk off roads, so this one was definitely following them.

The mystery didn't last for too long, though. The shadow separated from the trees , and before he could react, it grasped the edge of the carriage and swung inside.

Voar grasped for his sword, only to remember that he gave that to Malborn. His second instinct was to punch the attacker, but the black person dodged the attack easily, though didn't try anything itself.

It was a woman, Voar realized a second later, clad in thin and black armor with a mask and a low hood obscuring her face.

"Well aren't you just a bear of a man," she muttered quietly. "Calm down, I've got no quarrel with you."

He looked over to the driver, but the man continued to whistle under his breath as though nothing has happened.

Damn it, he knew it smelt like a trap. He considered jumping out of the carriage- it was moving slowly enough for a woman to climb inside, so a tumble off of it would be too hard…

"Don't worry about him," she waved her hand, getting comfortable on her respective seat. "He's has no idea I'm here."

A mage, then. Even worse. Voar disliked mages- mainly because he respected and feared them, and fearing something made him cranky.

"You're not attacking. What do you want?" he asked bluntly.

"This wasn't my idea, I assure you," somewhere in the deep shadow of her hood, she must have rolled her eyes. "Look, the Thalmor do nasty business, and you're not the only one that wants to put salt in their tea. I'm simply going to borrow this space until we get inside the courtyard."

"Why should I not just throw you off now, then?"

"Huh? Didn't I say? Oh, right, I didn't- well, we know you have some sort of business of the shadier sort there, as well…"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he cut her off, liking the situation more and more. By the way she talked, she herself was likely "of the shadier sort".

She tilted her head. "It's a nice plan, you know. Get into the Embassy with an invitation, get away from the party, do what you must… But how do you expect to get anywhere? The guards there don't sleep, and you seem like the type to bash heads first, get killed a second later. And even then, are you going to break the door of the office down?"

"Do you have a point?" he asked impatiently. So much for Delphine's plans…

"I'm offering a simple deal- you let me stay in the carriage, I'll clear the way for you."

"Why take such a risk just to rob the place?" he snorted.

She seemed to contemplate something for a moment, and then shrugged. "They're holding my brother captive in their dungeons."

"Oh…" He didn't expect that. "Why are they holding him there?"

"Something about some man they're looking for," there was a trace of anger in her voice. "Look, take the deal or no. We just thought it would be easier to pull this off without bumping into each other in the shadows."

"Who are "we"?" he continued to question.

"Such suspicions, and all I ask is a spare seat for twenty minutes…"

"I don't trust anyone who's face I can't see," he parried with dignity. "Tell me, why did you even bother blinding the poor man and not me, if all you needed was to ride in on a carriage?"

"He needs to drive the carriage, and I can't- it's easier to simply make him think that nothing is happening behind him."

He didn't know much about magics, but that sounded like a flimsy excuse. "That little trick won't work on the Thalmor mages."

"It doesn't have to," she was getting impatient. Her voice now showed slight strain. Talking and keeping up her illusion must have been more difficult than she let on. "Illusion spells are just convenient, but they aren't my arsenal. Now are you taking the damned deal or not?"

He chewed the thought over for a moment. After all, the price was cheap, and what she offered was useful. And if she really did just want to help her brother…

"Alright, I guess you can stay. Now what are you going to do, exactly?"

"Never your mind. But my associate is going to be at the party itself- Redguard by the name of Alamand. He can help you get away from the party itself, and I will make sure no one stops you on the grounds. You won't have to worry about bashing locks, either. And before you think of throwing me out of here and telling Alamand that you didn't, he won't bother helping without my signal."

"I didn't even think about that," he growled, slightly hurt. If he made a deal, he never cheated.

She sat in silence for a moment, and then there was a chuckle. "An honest man. What a rarity. Hope it doesn't land you in a ditch somewhere… or work out against you," she seemed to think for another long moment- she did that a lot, didn't she?- but then she just shook her head. "Well, we dug the grave, might as well lower the coffin."

They sat in a silence that would have been uncomfortable, had they been different people. For them, it was simply tense. Like two business partners that did not trust each other.

Voar broke the silence first. "So what man are they looking for?"

"What?"

"Why did they take your brother?"

"I don't know. They're looking for someone around our home, so they thought he would know."

"And does he?"

"Most likely. He probably told them as soon as he regained consciousness, too."

"Wouldn't they let him go by now, then?"

"Don't be so naïve, Dragonborn." Her laugh was bitter and muffled. "They will hold him there until they're sure he has nothing more to say, and then, if he is not dead yet, they will cut his throat. The Thalmor hold no sentiment for human lives."

"Tell me about the Thalmor." He asked suddenly. All he knew about then came from far-off stories that weren't too popular in Bruma, and Delphine's opinion of them was not as informative as she intended.

"What am I, an ox on the rumor mill? The Thalmor are imperialistic elves with a high opinion of themselves." She didn't sound angry or caring in any way now- just bored. "Dreaming of the "glory" days of the Ayleids… Annoying buggers, but they usually don't make life any harder than it should be. "

"Unless you want to worship Talos, right?"

The woman snorted, and threw her legs up to rest on the seat opposite of her. Pretty legs, too, visible enough in the tightly tailored armor, though hardly in Voar's taste. He preferred women with more girth and endurance. This one looked like she'd snap from the wind alone, though the acrobatics she showed earlier spoke against that.

"Talos… I don't know why everyone is making such a fuss about him. It's just one god in many. But you Nords are as stubborn as the mountains you live amongst. You just have to make things harder…"

"And how would you like it if someone forbid your worship?" he boomed, his patriotic pride hurt.

"Oh, they do. That's why I don't advertise it."

Well, that was just _great_. A criminal, illusionist, _and _a deadra-worshipper. "I'm starting to think I'm going to regret this."

"Definitely. You're the Dragonborn hero, and you hero-types always regret being practical," she snorted.

"And you're a criminal, and you criminal types like to play others with that practicality."

"Don't worry, our interests merge, and until that is no longer true, you have my promise that we're not playing you."

That sounded too convincing to be true. But he had already accepted the deal (what possessed him to do that?) and he really wasn't the type to go back on his word.

"You probably won't make it past the gates. The search carriages as soon as the stop."

"Whatever helps your conscience, milord." She shrugged, and refused to answer any more of his questions until they came close to the Thalmor Embassy.

* * *

><p>"<em>Silly Nord." <em>Léta thought absently while critically looking over the approaching walls. "_Oh well. You'll learn. Everyone does, eventually."_

Getting past the gate was no problem- the overconfident elves didn't even bother checking the carriage properly, so all she had to do was lay low and still. Then again, getting past the gate was never the issue in her line of work. The real trouble came when she was inside.

Mages were much more effective guards, anyway. She knew the extent of power for practiced wizards, and it never boded well for thieves and assassins like her. If the mage stationed near the main doors would detect even one small twitch in the shadows, she would be discovered.

"Tell Alamand," she whispered to Voar once the carriage parked, "That _the silence has been broken_. He'll help."

He didn't speak back, which was just as well- she needed to get to the safe shadows, where Nocturnal's Cloak would shield her from praying eyes.

"I need to see your invitation," The guard addressed the man as he neared the steps up. Léta was already pressed against the gray stones of the platform, invisible to anyone and everyone who could have looked at her… unless the mage knew what to look for.

Detect Life spells have been the bane of thieves and thugs since its "genius" invention. Even Light spells could be fooled more easily than the energy-detecting magics that saw through shadow and stone alike. So the Listener had to be even more careful than usual, unless she wanted to receive an ice-bolt in the back. At the same time, she had to move quickly…

Impressive iron grates lined the perimeter of the Embassy, and there was a slight tingle to their shine. Likely, more detection spells, or perhaps a simple shock to discourage all burglars. She avoided trying to find out, instead coming up as close to the walls of the building itself.

Luckily, she found a small nook behind it's corner, where she could properly survey the situation.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not carrying a poisoned dagger in my boot, yada-yada." The Redguard following Voar grumbled routinely.

"_That makes one of us…"_

"It is procedure. You may go in."

Three normal guards patrolling the grounds and the walls. One mage standing his vigil at the doors.

The wizard only glanced at Voar, but then did a double take, even his famed "elven composition" taking a hit when seeing a bear in party clothes. He didn't comment, but seemed more confused than a highborn had any right to be.

Léta only smirked under her mask, and prepared to scale the wall while everyone was distracted by the arriving guests.

Maven would be at the party… the thought was completely random, and made the woman frown. So what? Lots of people would be at the party, and she wasn't even on warm terms with the Black-Briar (No one ever was, but only a few knew it). Yet her close connection to the Thieves Guild brought some… nostalgia, perhaps?

"_Stop with the sentiments and climb, dammit."_

And so she did. She kept sending a small flame through her hands- the only Destruction spell she knew- to warm up her fingers and melt away some of the ice. The climb was short, but very difficult. But eventually she made it up to the roof.

It didn't get any easier. The snow has been falling for days now, and she had to tread carefully on the deep, but weak layer that was on the roof.

Léta almost made it to the peak of the roof, when her hand slipped, sending an avalanche of snow down. She hurried to grasp at the frame as soon as she felt herself being dragged back towards the ground, and held on until she could finally find her footing again.

The snow must have fallen on the Door Mage, because she could hear spluttering and loud cursing from where she just came from.

"By the- the last thing we need is to cave the guests inside the Embassy! They'll think it was a trap! You there, get shovels, now!"

The assassin stifled her laughter, and flittered over to the other side of the building.

* * *

><p>"What was that?" Voar turned around towards the front door. Sounded like a thick crash, and then yelling.<p>

Alamand only tilted his head up to the roof with disapproval. "Told her it would be easier to climb the fence. Don't worry about her, she can talk her way out of getting caught at a scene of a massacre with blood on her hands."

"Why do I get the feeling that's experience-proven?"

"The less you know, the easier you'll sleep tonight, my friend."

"I guess this is the catch, isn't it? She'll kill everyone on grounds?"

"Oh, no, she made it abundantly clear she wants this job as clean as possible. And there really isn't a catch- it was just coincidence. Now, are you going to begin, or are you going to let her get bored?"

"You're not coming?"

" I think you two can work this out just fine without me. I have other concerns."

"I don't trust you."

"That is mutual, oh Mountain-That-Moves. Here." He handed him a bottle of something. Wine, by the looks of it, but Voar was feeling pessimistic tonight.

"You think I'm stupid enough to drink that?"

"It's not for you, Dragonborn." The man was beginning to get impatient. "It's for that guest over there. Razelan is known to make a lot of noise when he has too much to drink, and that's exactly what you need, no?" Nazir raised his eyebrows.

"And what will you be doing?"

"I am just an innocent bystander." The Redguard shrugged his shoulders and walked away. Once his face was turned, he smirked the kind of smirk that would immediately make Voar forget all about the deal, and call quits, and then hurry to get as far away from Nazir as possible.

* * *

><p>Léta prided herself in her ability to move silently under any condition- even on fresh, crunchy snow. Brynjolf was not the worst thief, perhaps even the best, and he taught her everything he knew. Which was just as well- the rumor was that elves had better hearing, and, whether true or not, she couldn't afford any mistakes before she got to Etienne. The Thalmor guards moved around with slightly less caution, piling the snow down and preventing any fresh footprints. It was almost too easy to move along the fence, hiding behind thick pine branches.<p>

Almost, but not quite. Besides, her job wasn't to simply get to the destination anymore, courtesy of Nazir's initiative with folding the Dragonborn into their plan. She had to create a clear path for the man to follow. And considering the size of him, it had to be a big freaking path. The man probably never even heard of hiding or sneaking.

Somewhere, at the back of her head, she remembered walking through the ruins with Brynjolf and Karliah. Now _that _was worth remembering. Hours of sneaking around traps and the Falmer, and none of them slipped up for even a second, silently communicating and stepping with the shadows. Hitching breath and jolts of adrenaline, it was a fine day, despite of the context…

In any case, the guards had to go. It would have been safer to just slit their throats, but she remembered that she was working for the Thieves Guild at that moment. Babette's paralytic poisons made short work of the elves, even saving her the trouble of propping them up against their posts. A small illusion to mess with their brains, and…

The Solar greeted her with warmth and distant conversation. She cared little for their business, but a deal was a deal. She hid around the pillar, and waited for them to finish talking.

"…so he did talk! You managed to get something out of him, didn't you!"

"What goes on in the interrogation chamber is none of your business, Gissur." The voice was even and secretary-like.

"I was right; you got something out of him, then! I want to get paid in full!"

It didn't take too long to figure out who they were referring to. Léta grit her teeth, but stayed put.

"Enough of this! If you don't get out of the Embassy this moment, we will throw you out!"

There was grumbling and more arguing, but eventually, everything died down.

Footsteps. Thrown orders. Creaking of stairs.

Silence. Scratching of a quill on parchment.

Leta reached into her pouch, but there were only bottles of poison left. She silently cursed.

No way to get around this one, then.

"_Sorry Brynjolf…"_

* * *

><p>Walking through the Embassy courtyard was embarrassingly easy. There was a short challenge when Voar walked right past a Thalmor mage in the hallway, but that body was now hidden in one of the bedrooms. This, on the other hand…<p>

"_So they held up their end. Woopie."_

He wasn't too happy about that. He glanced over to the paralyzed elves with some disappointment. He was looking forward to the fight, though this _was _a lot more quiet.

The door to the Solar was unlocked, so he walked inside without delay. The place was deserted, though as he passed the desk he noticed a few drops of blood on the parchment. So the girl did manage to get some action- that was just plain unfair.

Remembering his mission, he walked around the desk and opened the drawers. They were unlocked, too. There was nothing there, though, aside from a few spare quills and rolls of parchment.

"Get over here!" Someone hissed, and he looked over to the door on the west side of the room. The girl was waving him over. "Quickly, there are guards upstairs."

He obliged, getting inside the room. It was an office, with another desk and many more bookshelves. Everything was stacked, lined, and carefully arranged, and Voar wondered if the files were color coded as well… Would make his mission a lot easier…

The girl shut the door behind him. "You have five minutes before they realize he's not at his desk. I'm heading to the basement."

"Who's not at his desk?"

She wordlessly pointed at the table. He leaned over it, looked over the corpse and let out a short laugh.

"I thought Thieves don't kill?"

"I'm not a thief." She shrugged, heading down the stairs. "Now hurry up and get whatever it is you wanted."

* * *

><p><em>Dammit all to hells, locked! Whoever bothers to put such intricate locks on basement doors? <em>

Her nerves were starting to get a little flayed. She could have picked the lock, but it would take too long and too many picks before she'd get it open. Grudgingly, she came back up the stairs.

The Dragonborn was digging through a chest, shoving aside daggers, coins, amulets, and finally coming up with a couple of bound books and a stack of letters. He opened the journals, mouthed a few words to himself, and grunted with displeasure before shoving them into his bag.

He looked up to her. "What?"

"Key?"

He glanced around, then swept one off the floor and threw it to her. She caught it a foot above her head, and headed back to the door. "You got what you needed?"

"Yes." He replied shortly.

"Then come on, you don't want to be found here!"

He followed her downstairs. As soon as they came inside the chambers, they heard the quiet moans of pain, and the calm questions streaming from the cells.

"Two," she whispered to him. "Take out the mage, I'll deal with the other one."

Without waiting for his response, she melded with the shadows, away from harm. Voar took a more direct approach- he charged at the Thalmor mage, and impaled him on his sword before the mer could even open his mouth.

The guard responded a second later, but he didn't get to take even one step. Léta rose up from behind him, and fit her dagger under the edge of the helmet. The body fell with a choked gurgle.

The woman dropped down onto her knees beside the prisoner, pulling down her hood and mask.

"Etienne?" She asked. "Hey, get up sleepy-head, there's no time for rest."

"What?" he blurbed. "Léta? I had a horrible dream…"

"Yeah, I know, and it's not over yet. Focus, Etienne," she grabbed his jaw with both hands and forced his face towards her. His eyes came to one point, thankfully, and didn't wander. "Can you walk?"

"Once you get me off this wall, maybe…" he snapped, his head threatening to fall again. Léta looked to the dead elf's belt and grabbed the key off of it, unlocking the manacles. The thief fell forwards, and she had to catch him quickly.

"There's a passage over there- I saw them dragging corpses that way…" he made a weak gesture somewhere to her left.

"Let's get you some clothes first, it's chilly outside."

"By all the realms of Oblivion, it's so good to see you," he moaned into her shoulder. "Feels like I've been here for years…"

"Just a bit less than that, sorry to disappoint."

"Damn Thalmor. They have ways… I'm still not sure you're not just one of their tricks…"

She dragged him out of the cell and heaved him to sit against the wall while she searched for some spare clothing. She found it in the chest beside the table, along with healing potions, and the next minute was spent getting his stiff limbs into the appropriate holes.

"Hey, Juggernaut!" She called out to Voar, who was diligently searching through the interrogator's desk. "You about done?"

"Just… so many damned letters!"

She growled under her breath, and turned back to her Guild Brother.

"What did they even want from you?"

"Dragons- they don't know anything, and they are scared," he grumbled. "Looking for some old man Esbern. Always poke their noses into places they don't belong… I told them… told them… remember, the old man in the Ratways? The paranoid one with the million locks on a steel door… Matched the description, but they wouldn't let me go…"

"Who?" Voar boomed suddenly, and Etienne flinched.

"The notes- I told them everything I knew."

"That's your problem now," she threw the Dragonborn a glare. "My priority is getting Etienne out of here."

"Yes, but-"

"Not so fast! Put your hands where I can see them, and don't move!"

"Damn." Léta muttered, more impatient than scared at getting caught. Voar's blade and her throwing knife made short work of the guards, so the only one left standing was a tiny Bosmer with bound wrists.

"..this is horrible, they will hunt me down… last time I do favors…"

Léta lost interest as soon a she found yet another key on one of the fresh corpses. The lock of the trapdoor was stiff, but she managed to turn it and open the door.

The cold hit her on the face as her view opened up stairs leading downwards, and light from the bottom.

"Looks like an ice cavern." She muttered. "Etienne, how's the confidence?"

"I think I'm good…" The man left the empty bottle on the ground, and shakily stood up.

"Good. I vote the Dragonborn goes first."

"Seconded," the Bosmer piped angrily. "If there's a troll there, he can choke on his bones. And who the hell are you?" She ignored the question.

Voar wasn't fazed by the suggestion. He pocketed the journals, and flashing everyone a confident grin, climbed through the trapdoor.

We all waited for the crunching of bones and possible choking. It never came, and Léta rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's get going."

A few minutes later, Léta jumped down to the snow, barely making a sound. Etienne fell with a little less grace, and she hurried to support his vertical position, which was threatening to tip over again.

"By the ways," Voar said in a strange tone from up ahead. "I think Malborn cursed it."

"Don't tell me…" Léta grimaced.

"Troll."

"Tough decision. Go onwards to the troll, or backward to the Thalmor?"

"Troll," Etienne said without hesitation.

"Alright, Dragonborn, we can probably-" She turned, and shut off. Voar was nowhere to be seen, and suddenly there were loud noises coming from somewhere ahead. "I guess that's our cue, then…"

"Are you insane?" the Bosmer hissed. "I'm staying right here until that thing is gone!"

"Suit yourself, little man," she shrugged without pause, "I don't really care what happens to you."

The white Snow Troll batted Voar's sword away without notice of its sharp edge. The man barely dodged a swipe of its massive claws, and lashed out again, and again-

Somewhere out of the corner of his eye he saw the girl and the man she saved slip past them. The troll turned its head immediately towards them and roared like an unhappy host whose meal just walked right off the table.

Léta held her hands outwards towards the beast. There was a sudden ripple in the air, and the troll flinched away. Voar hurried not to waste the pause and stabbed his greatsword through the monster's throat. It roared, throwing its limbs around, and then collapsed.

The Dragonborn stood over its corpse, breathing heavily. The cold air hit his lungs and he almost had a coughing fit, but recovered, and sheathed his blade.

"Careful now…" Etienne was now the one supporting the girl. She looked suddenly pale and exhausted.

"That took a bit more effort than I expected…" she muttered, picking herself up properly. "Stupid trolls."

"I could have handled it, but thanks for the help," Voar offered, and she snorted. She shook off the exhaustion that came with the depletion of her very small mana source, and squared her shoulders.

Her hood was still down, he realized. Imperial woman. _Figures…_

"We were just going to sneak past, but the damned thing noticed us. Well, at least I'll have something to bring back to Babette…"

* * *

><p>"…so we get to Solitude, and Nazir is just standing beside the stables, the horses ready- and then-" Léta choked on her laughter, shaking uncontrollably.<p>

Nazir picked up the sentence, "And the guards march straight up to the Dragonborn, completely ignoring us, and charge _him_ with fraud, trespassing, theft, the use of an illegal paralytic poison, and the murder three guards, three mages and the assassination of one of the guests!"

"You should- have-seen- the look- on his face!" The woman was gasping for air, her forehead on the table. Babette was giggling, and Delvin and Etienne were roaring with laughter. "Priceless- like a kicked retriever…"

"Anyway," Léta finally wiped off the tears off her face. "As soon as they mentioned confiscating everything stolen from him, he went berserk. I don't know what was in those journals, but it must have been important, you should have seen how that strange woman seethed when he told her he was set up…"

"I wouldn't call it setting up, exactly," Nazir drawled. "We still helped each other out... except there's no blame on us, and he shouldn't show his face in Solitude for a few weeks and look over his shoulder for the Thalmor while we…"

"We can celebrate a good day's work!" Delvin toasted. He had reason to be in such high spirits- aside from seeing Etienne alive and well, the renovations in the sanctuary were making good progress. And all the construction was being done by workers, while he got to bark orders at them and line his pockets with the Brotherhood's gold.

The place was actually in a half-decent shape. A bit or reconstruction, some new furniture, a few less cobwebs and rats and it would eventually be livable. It was harder to get men to come inside and get the work done, though, but thankfully, there were quite a few who did not mind doing business with either of the guilds. Money was money, after all, and as long as they ignored the creepy whispering door, the menacing stone coffin in the corner, and the proximity to the family of psychopaths, it was a fairly simple job.

Léta's head suddenly turned away from the table, and all laughter died on her face.

"Mother is calling." She furrowed her eyebrows in slight confusion. "Seems urgent."

"Better get to her, Listener."

"Listener?" Etienne asked in confusion. "What does that mean?"

Bringing him into the sanctuary was a split second decision, mostly for convenience. They couldn't stay in Solitude, Riften was a day of solid galloping away, and the thief still had wounds that had to be taken care of. Besides, it hardly mattered- no one but the Brotherhood knew the password to the Black Door. Even Delvin was let in by Babette, as a precaution. And besides, the Thieves Guild was loyal enough when it came to its own members and clients.

"It means she Listens, Etienne, and it's better if you just leave it at that," Delvin answered his question as Léta stood up from the table and walked up the stairs towards the coffin. "She does that often?"

"Any hour of the day," Babette indulged in the gossip. "I saw her there in the middle of the night, once, just nodding along."

"No wonder she looks so tired. Has she been getting any sleep at all?"

"…"

There was an uneasy silence.

"Now that you mention it…"

"Of course she sleeps," Nazir waved his hand. "No one can go without that long."

"How long would that be?" Etienne asked.

"About four- hm, always?"

Another silence.

"Léta!" Delvin roared up the stairs.

"What?" she replied in a distracted voice.

"I'm dragging you to Riften with me."

"_Let Brynjolf sort her out, he was always good at that."_

"Like hell you are!" She barked back immediately. "I'm going out, I have a recruitment run!"

"It's the middle of the night!"

"What's your point?"

Delvin snorted. "Fine, if she wants to kill herself with exhaustion or potion overdose, that's her business."

"She won't die, though, will she?" Babette looked worried for a moment. "No, no, she'll be fine. She knows her limits. Right?"

Both thieves looked at each other, and then shook their heads. "No, she really doesn't."


	4. Survival Races

**A/N-** This is the beginning of the first part- like I'm mentioned before, I'll be breaking the plot up into arcs and episodes. I've written the first part out entirely, but the rest of the chapters are still in editing process. I imagine that system will have some serious time gaps, but I can't imagine anyone caring too much.

* * *

><p><span>Survival Races<span>

By all the people that Léta asked, Sheila was considered ordinary. Proper. Bland. Even boring. She worked diligently on her small piece of land, and sold the produce in the city. She came into Whiterun everyday to pray for her family at the Temple. Went right back, worked some more, and then went inside her house, not to be seen again until the next day. Never any visitors, friends, lovers, or even a dog. She was so normal that it was strange.

"The poor girl is still grieving," her neighbor, an energetic and kind woman with a name so slippery that it left Léta's head as soon as she heard it.

"Yes, I heard about her father's suicide," she replied with false sympathy, failing to mention the fact that that suicide was exactly the reason she was here.

"Well… no, for her mother and brothers. It's been years, but she never let it go…"

"Why not for her father?" Léta carefully took the offered pastry, and took a small bite. Not bad, with an air of countryside cooking. "They didn't get along?"

"That man… don't tell anyone I said this, but he was as cruel as they came." she was eager enough to share her impression. "Oh, how many times I've seen bruises on Sheyla's face... she always said that a hoe got away from her for a second, but she wasn't fooling anyone. If anything, it's a blessing he decided to… to…"

The woman seemed shocked at her own venom, and stopped talking. "You be a dear, give these to her. She lives just over there, you can see the house from here. Oh, its so sweet of you to visit her, I'm sure she'd love to have some company." She suddenly paused, and looked at her with confusion. "You didn't say, who are you to her?"

"I'm an old friend of hers," Léta smiled charmingly, taking the platter of pastries. "Seems like it's been a lot longer than I expected, could even remember where her house was! Well, I'll get these to her safe and sound, don't you worry."

That seemed to be enough for the woman, and she let her go with a warm smile. As soon as she went back inside her house, however, Léta's pleasant smile disappeared, and she dug into the pile of cookies without any jags in her conscience.

Needless to say, there was only a quarter left by nighttime, when Léta finally entered Sheila's house.

The house didn't feel like it belonged to someone in grieving. The Depressed tended to either be forgetful, accidentally cluttering the place and not bothering to clean up, or be almost maniacally clean and tidy. This one was neither.

The dying embers in the hearth provided pleasant warmth in the hut. The dishes were washed, the cupboards were stocked with food and the smell of recently baked bread hung in the air. There were a few clothes hanging over the frame of the bed, though, and the armchair had a blanket thrown over its arm. Overall, the place looked… normal. Like somebody was living in their own comfort zone.

The woman herself was sleeping under the covers, her wheat blond hair weaving over the pillows. She didn't look as though she was bothered by nightmares, either…

Léta sat down in the armchair, placing the plate of pastries to the table next to her. She was in no rush, and those things were _good._

She didn't have to wait long. After about ten minutes and one pastry, Léta noticed the change in Sheila's breathing and the way her arm started creeping under the pillow.

"You know, this is hardly the home of a closet killer," the Listener started conversationally. "Then again, this is as good disguise as any."

The girl froze like a discovered mouse.

"I'd take that hand of the dagger, Sheila. If I wanted to kill you, you wouldn't have woken up. Ever."

No response.

"So I wonder, how _did _you manage to drag his body up to hang from the mill? It was a very nice touch- a noose, his broken neck, a height he could only get to himself… no one bothers investigating suicides, after all…"

Sheila sat up. "How did you get in here?" she demanded in a raspy, quiet voice.

"Through the front door, of course." Léta snorted. "Want a pastry?"

"A… what?"

"I said a pastry. No? Suit yourself…"

"Who are you?"

"Finally! Onto business!" The assassin grinned. "I know you killed your father in cold blood-"

"You didn't answer my question." Sheila looked like she could decide whether it was safer to get up or to stay in the bed, frozen somewhere halfway between the two.

"No, I didn't… well, to put this bluntly, I'm from the Dark Brotherhood. And congrats! You have the potential to make the ranks." The tone was a bit sarcastic. Léta knew very well the reaction most people would get from hearing an invitation like that. Which was probably why Astrid had her moved to the abandoned shack so far from Riften- just so she would be taken seriously.

However, Sheila's face became speculative. She didn't respond, so Léta continued speaking.

"As I understand it, you hate this farm just as much, if not more than you hated your father. So I'm giving you a ticket out. An invitation to our family."

There it is- the look of disbelief that Léta expected. Except this time, she was waiting for a response. It took a long moment before the silence was broken again.

"If I were to… consider it…" Sheila started cautiously. "What would you have me do?"

Léta smiled. "There is a farm up along the road to Markarth. If you were to _consider _the invitation, find Cliffwatch and the woman named Marla. She lives there alone, in the middle of nowhere, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem. Kill her, and the contract is complete, and you are welcomed with open arms. Don't, and you will never hear from us again. That's it, no tricks or double floors."

"What has she done?" Shayla furrowed her eyebrows. "Who wants her dead?"

Léta just smiled, knowing this part well. Astrid taught her a lot more than she could have imagined. "If I tell you that, it will ruin the surprise. Ask her yourself, if you'd like. I'm going to leave now, but we will be watching. Ta."

She gracefully stood up from the chair and stepped into the thick shadows. Nocturnal's Cloak rolled over her instantly, better than any illusion spell she could have cast. The effect drew a small hitch in Sheila's breath.

"Oh, and do try the pastries. You have a talented neighbor."

* * *

><p>"Don't do that," Léta grumbled quietly. Shadowmere snorted again. "I'm serious. I don't need you reproaching me as well. I got enough of that from those damned fools."<p>

Another snort, louder and angrier.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes out. It was increasingly hard to keep her eyes open with the even strut of the horse. The woman was tempted to gallop some of the way, wake herself up a bit, but couldn't even bring herself to kick Shadowmere's sides well enough.

"I know. And I love them all, but they can be a bit overbearing. I'm not even that tired."

Low huff.

"You're right, what else is family for?" she laughed, short and quiet, but it was suddenly cut short. "Oh, hello…"

Shadowmere slowed down cautiously, and Léta strained her eyes to look farther up the road. The roads were just as "safe" during the night as they were during the daytime, but the one serious flaw was the limited visibility. As a criminal, she preferred the dark, but so did many other people. Luckily, the terrain around Whiterun was mainly flat and grassy, so she spotted them right away.

There were five riders, she managed to count. Moving towards her from the north of the road, right where she was heading. If it wasn't for the lack of a wagon, they could have simply been a caravan, but…

She stopped, and wondered if she should simply get off the road and let them pass. Dust-tailing them would look beyond suspicious, and she really didn't want to get into anything.

Shadowmere made an alarmed sound, and took a step backwards.

To hells with it! Léta was an accomplished thief and assassin, and she didn't stay alive and free for that long to start ignoring her intuition (and horse) now!

Turning the horse around but keeping her head tilted back to the riders, she sent the horse into a trot. It could have been her mind playing tricks on her, but the leader sped up slightly.

And arrow whistled two inches from her ear, leaving no more illusions. She kicked Shadowmere's sides, and the horse bolted from the spot, heading back, back south. This time the sound of a shouted order and the beating against the cobbled road was unmistakable. The hunt was for her.

"Show these bastards how fast a demon can run!" Léta breathed to Shadowmere. All traces of sleep were gone, adrenaline-induced clarity chased away the fog. She didn't care for explanations, solutions or reasons- it was just run, run, faster, _faster_.

The walls of the city came and went somewhere to the right, but she didn't even think about pausing and seeking safety in behind its gates. There was only one place in Nirn that she still considered safe, the one her instincts were rushing her towards- south to Riften.

The fact that it would take hours of this galloping to simply bend around the Throat didn't occur to her. It didn't have to. Shadowmere was the fastest and most enduring horse in the world. The men would run out of steam long before she did.

She chanced a peek over her shoulder when she crossed the river.

The damned thugs were keeping up with her! They were galloping right after her, and once they crossed the bridge, a few of them broke off from the main group, spreading out farther. She cursed angrily; they were trying to corner her like one would a lonesome wolf. Not very well, they must not have expected the speed of her mount, but an attempt still showed some serious intent.

Reaching the first crossroads in their path, she breathed a hurried spell that sent a shadow decoy flying off away from her. Her concentration was shaken, though, and it would have fooled no one during the daytime. The clone was a colorless shadow that floated rather than mimicking a live horse and rider.

Faster, faster!

There were poisons and knives in her bag, but nothing else she could have used. All she had were her flimsy illusions and an infallible reputation of never getting caught. Except the one time, to Karliah's arrow-

Karliah… The Nightingale Hall… if she could only get to the…

There were no more arrows sent in her direction thanks to this pace. What buzzed past her this time was a bolt of ice that would have spooked any ordinary horse off the road. Shadowmere made a violent noise of discontent but only sped up, working to her limits.

A branch whipped Léta in the face like a hot flash, but she shrugged it off. Something had to be done. Soon. Even if Shadowmere could run cross-country without pausing, she was still human and would likey drop after an hour. A pause, somewhere to hide, to throw them off her scent…

Fort Amol loomed in the distance, like a black beacon. Bandit were known to shoot at passing riders without bias or distinction, no matter the number of opponents…

"Come on, come on, just a bit more…" her teeth clenched on her lip against the growing desperation. Her mouth tasted of copper coins, but the rest was lost to her.

She flew by the fort before anyone even managed to get their bearings. The thugs followed her with surprised glares, their bows in their hands, and then turned to look for the reason behind her flight.

More shouting. Someone cried out. A horse reared. The beating of hoofs got a tiny bit quieter. Or perhaps the drumming in her ears became louder…

Léta turned sharply in between the trees. The rocky terrain didn't give her much room to move, but with some dumb luck, she managed to blindly fly into a path between the boulders and rocks. Sending a feverish thanks to Nocturnal, she followed through, hoping that the trees would hide her from the moon's light.

When she was certain that the tail was left behind, she allowed Shadowmere to slow down a fraction. Once she had the ability to do so, leaned farther down, pressing her forehead to the animal's hide, and muttered another incantation. It became a little easier to breathe, and a surge of energy ran through her. Riding became a bit less painful. But another twenty minutes won, before the illusion would dispel, and she would just collapse onto the ground, easy picking for bears and riders.

She suddenly remembered Vipir's story. What would they call her after this? Léta the Desperate? Léta the Cowardly Rider That Ran Like Rabbit? Pfft, Brynjolf would laugh his head off…

_Stupid, stupid thoughts! Get going!_

Shadowmere and her were now running with renewed, imagined strength, bunny-trailing between trees. It was a dull relief to see birches getting mixed in with the pines. She managed to gain a lot of ground in these familiar forests. Nocturnal was merciful tonight, and the chase was won by the prey.

It took her long hours to trudge through the forests, slowing down and listening closely for any sounds that didn't belong here. But there was nothing. Just owls and foxes running their nightly hunts. Sometimes Léta's nerves would tense, and she'd be tempted to gallop until the very end, but she knew better than to be impatient…

Eventually, she came out on the western side of lake by Riften. It would have been extremely stupid to go into the city itself- those men knew who she was, there was no question of that. No one would bother to run after a random suspicious traveler for that long. And if they knew which horse to look for, they knew which stables she was seen at the most.

When she neared the landmark stone that stood over the Nightingale Hall, she got off Shadowmere, and paused to lean her forehead against the horse.

"Ride. I will call when it's all clear."

Shadowmere dropped a heavy sound, and then sped off into the night. Léta didn't watch her go- she had to get inside before someone could see her.

Karliah wasn't used to receiving guests, Léta knew, and usually, she wouldn't just barge into the sanctuary and make herself a target to the woman's bow, but this was a special case. She wasn't surprised to come nose-to-nose with an elegant glass arrow as soon as she straightened.

"Point that somewhere else, will you? I had a hard night…"

"Léta? What-" the Dunmer finally recognized her, and released the string, bringing the weapon down. "You look-"

"Like all of the Imperial armies just marched over me, siege machines and all?"

"I was going to say exhausted, but now that you mention it... What's wrong? You never come here unless called-"

Léta groaned, and walked over to the table where Karliah was sitting previous to her drop-in. Her hands and then lips found the bottle of wine. "Did you hear from Brynjolf recently? Has anything happened?"

"Brynjolf doesn't usually have keep me updated, so-"

"It couldn't have just been me, too much honor. I have to find a way into Riften tomorrow and see if anything is-"

"Will you tell me what's going on?" Karliah interrupted me, her voice now forcefully calm.

"Those bastards chased me since Whiterun," Léta barked. "They had a mage, too- no wonder they could keep up with me, an experienced enough wizard can make those horsies run for miles and miles without pause!"

"You were chased?"

"Yes!"

"By who?"

"I didn't exactly pause to chat. I started running as soon as they started firing."

"Did you get a look at them?"

Léta knew that she had to focus, but it was proving hard. She took another swing from the bottle for good measure, and tried again, with more sense. "There were five. All on horses. I saw them from afar, figured it was just a scouting group from one of the war camps, but scouts don't shoot arrows at travelers. Now if you don't mind, I need to-" she took a step, and the world swam. "…lie down?"

Black.

* * *

><p>"Yes, a woman did pass through here," the woman chirped with barely contained excitement- so many visitors for the day! She couldn't wait to pass on the gossip to her friends. "Asked directions to Sheila's house, said she was an old friend!"<p>

"Sheila?" The shorter hooded man asked questioningly.

"Missing," the taller replied before the woman could. "Disappeared four hours ago, the stable owner saw her leave."

"Looks like she was scared badly," the other mused.

"Why would she scare a woman into hiding?"

"I don't know. She knew something she wasn't supposed to, maybe."

"Then her status would be at "corpse" right now. Interestingly enough, Sheila's father died not too long ago. Suicide, strung by the neck in the mill. Our darling girl is on a recruitment drive."

The shorter man scoffed. "Please. You think the farm girl killed her father? You realize that mill is pretty high, right?"

"Sorry, ma'am," The taller man focused on the old woman again, who was listening to the conversation with her mouth open. "Thank you for your cooperation, we will leave you for the night."

"So the woman was a criminal? And I sent her right off to Sheila… oh, but she seemed so…"

"Sincere?" The taller man must have smiled, his tone was almost wistful for a moment. "She has that effect on people."

She tried to say something else, but they were already walking away, still talking between each other. She hurried to mouth a prayer to the Divines, went inside the house, and locked the door tightly behind her.

* * *

><p>"-I thought you were keeping an eye on her."<p>

"That's hard to do when she skips off into the sunset without a word of where she is going."

"I suppose there was no harm done. She will come around soon."

"Like she does each and every time. Yes, of course, how could I forget?"

"Please don't look at me like that. This is as much my fault as it is yours."

Pause.

"Yes, I know. The stubborn fool has been running herself into the ground, but she won't talk to me. Ever since Mercer, I've barely had two words from her, and you had even less. If this continues-"

"Stop buzzing," Léta finally groaned at the voices in the dark. "My head is going to split in half soon."

"Not surprising, that. Lass, what the hell did you get yourself into this time?"

"What did I just say?" The voice cut at her ears, each noise sending an unpleasant pulsation through her brain.

Someone's cold hand appeared on her forehead, and there was disapproving clack of the tongue.

"So, the bad news is that your eyes didn't make it-"

"Whaaa-t?" She panicked, but then light shone straight into her skull a second later, and she groaned, hurrying to shut them again. "You're a filthy liar, Brynjolf."

"You're burning up. Exactly how long did you go without sleep?

"I slept."

"For more than three hours at a time."

"Just leave me alone to die already…"

"That's not an option, lass. Get up."

"No."

"Hm. You know, I usually throw insolent and lazy children like you into the sewers. That clears their heads in record time."

Despite her earlier plea, the prospect of drowning in the sewers got her eyes properly open, and she even lifted a hand hand to smack that bastard's face. "I'm not a child."

"You sure act like one some time. You didn't answer my question, either- when was the last time you had proper sleep?"

"A week ago."

"I can tell when you're lying." He stared at her, long and hard, and she caved.

"Fine. A month."

"I'll take a wild guess and say you won't tell me why?"

She stuck her tongue at him like a petulant child. "You know I can't fall asleep without a lullaby."

"So you think stamina potions and illusions will suffice?"

"Can't sleep, the world needs saving." She joked. "What are you doing here, Brynjolf?" she quickly followed up to prevent further questioning on her sleeping habits.

"Karliah came into the Flagon yesterday, just as we were starting to get problems."

"Problems?" She pulled herself into a sitting position and looked around. They were still in the Nightingale Hall, on the bed that Karliah kept for her in cases like- well, this one. She was still fully clothed against the chill, though she was already used to sleeping underground and it didn't bother her too much.

"It wasn't just you that was attacked."

"Who else? Did anyone-"

"Everyone is fine," Brynjolf shrugged. "Rune got a nasty scare, but he got off easy. Vex got "caught" and then loose, Delvin came back last night with a black eye, won't say what happened. And last but not least, they even tried to get at Maven."

"What? Who the hell are they?"

"I have the entire guild working to figure it out, though there's no word yet. I figured you might be able to tell me something. "

"Would if I could." Léta stared at him for a long moment, contemplating. "It's not the first time someone attempted a coup on the Thieves Guild, but they must have a death wish if they're attacking Maven."

"Or they don't know exactly what they're dealing with. Which crosses out just about everyone in Skyrim with the exclusion of the Forsworn, and there is no reason those lunatics would try anything."

There was an uneasy silence. Brynjolf shook his head and turned away. "I'll get back to the guild, see if there is any news. You should stay here for a day or two just in case."

"Why do I get the porcelain dish treatment?"

"Because no one else in the Guild has been chased half-way across the province, and in such a number. Whoever they are, they are after your blood above all else. Besides, you're no use to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion again."

"The love and care in this room is overwhelming," she rolled her eyes. He gave her an encouraging smile, and started walking away. "Wait, could you get Delvin to send a message to- an associate of mine?"

"What's the message?"

She looked at Karliah, and the woman gestured to the writing desk. Léta picked herself up off the bedroll, and picked up the quill.

For a moment, she wondered what would be safe enough to put into writing.

"_Brother,_

_The roads are dangerous right now, so I can't get home yet. Don't forget to make sure Sheila gets back alright, she's visiting old Marla in Cliffwatch. By the way, last I heard, Derril is heading for Winterhold, should you need his help on that project you've been writing about._

_Mother sends her love,_

_Leah."_

"Here," she blew on the ink gently before handing the paper to Brynjolf. "Just get it to Delvin, he'll know what to do with it."

"If I find out your secrets are bringing this on our head-" he sternly warned her.

"No, I don't think it has anything to do with the Brotherhood. Look, at least they're just passing through." She shrugged. "It could have been worse. I suggest just keeping our heads down. Maybe it will blow over."

"That's what I told everyone to do, but we're losing business. I wonder… maybe it's the Dragonborn's doing?"

"He's not the type," she shook her head definitely.

"What type is he, then?"

"He's more likely to challenge me to a duel and believe me when I start crying, but he wouldn't order an attack like that even if he could. Believe me, if this is the man holding the fate of the world in his hands, we're all doomed."

"Who said anything about the fate of the world?" Brynjolf snorted. "I've seen a dragon, it swooped over Riften about a fortnight ago."

"Really?" she looked at him with curiosity. "And?

"Nothing. Spewed fire at the walls, torched one of the guards, and the rest chased it off with a ballista. These things are doing no more damage here than a hungry wolf pack so far."

"You're wrong," Karliah, who was mainly silent up to now, spoke up. "Riften has walls and ballistae, but what about the villages, farms and breweries? I've noticed more than a dozen flaming caravans along the road while traveling."

"Aye," he allowed. "But it's still hardly apocalyptic."

"Does it matter?" The chill was beginning to seep in, and Léta shivered. "It either ends or it doesn't. Why do we care?"

"For the most part, we don't. But if there's no world, we can't exactly enjoy its wealth, right?"

* * *

><p>It was hours later when Karliah returned from her scouting, tired, frustrated, and empty-handed. She found Léta sitting at her table, her hands hovering on the sides of the flame. Five blue butterflies were peacefully making their rounds in the air.<p>

"I take it you didn't find anything?"

"No." Karliah sat into the chair opposite of her, her eyes following the little illusions.

"This is the first thing that Master Davis taught me how to do," Léta mused. "It took me three weeks to figure out how to make them move properly. Before that, they were just floating without fluttering their wings or fluttering their wings without moving."

One of the butterflies flew off it trajectory, and landed on Karliah's fingers.

"It's a funny thing. They're not actually real. Just thin air. Without me projecting the image, they don't exist."

"I can feel it on my skin," Karliah responded with slight surprise, bringing the butterfly up to her eye level. The insect looked just like any other, though the faint glow to it gave away its nature.

"That's because I'm not acting on thin air. I'm inside your head, tricking your, and my own brain into thinking they are real. You can't create something out of nothing, my instructor taught me." Her voice was calm and concentrated- the exercise focused her attention.

"You attended the college first, right?"

"Of course. They don't let you dissect brains just anywhere," she smiled. Her fingers flexed, and the butterflies turned purple. Then red. Gold. Green. Rainbow.

Karliah couldn't help a small laugh. "How long were you there for?"

"Three years. I was eighteen when I applied. One year of theory, another of small, useless gesturing. But into my third, I began experimenting on my own. They don't tell you half the uses for illusions, you know. They forget to mention the fact that you can make someone act like a chicken for three days straight if you mess up the formula, for example.

"Personal experience?"

"Personal mistake. Juri never did forgive me for that one." Léta was smiling wistfully. "You know, sometimes I wish I stayed in the college."

"Well, I, for one, am glad you left. Though I never did ask why, did I?"

"No one ever did. It was simple enough- I've had more talent at picking pockets and locks than I did at casting spells. My instructors didn't like it- they never managed to catch me red-handed though." Léta made a vague gesture with her hand. "Eventually, it became obvious I had no future as a mage, though. Too unpredictable, some of them said. I was inclined to agree."

"So you sought the guild out?"

"No, no. One of my teachers asked me to travel to Riften to deliver some sort of artifact to the Jarl's court wizard. Brynjolf saw me at the markets, approached me, and offered a deal. How he managed to see a thief in a mage's traveling garb, I don't know, really. Anyway, I figured he was just a shady merchant who wanted to get rid of competition."

"And you said yes?"

"Ha! I said "Hell no, who do you take me for?" And the kicker came when he replied with "Someone with something in her pocket that she's looking for an excuse not to return." Again, I have no idea how he knew, but he had me there. Heh, I felt guilty for months after. Then I found out Delvin pushed the stupid amulet to Wylandriah anyway, she just forgot that she wasn't supposed to pay for it…" Léta was grinning wistfully, remembering the silly beginning. Then her face fell slightly again. "I don't risk coming around Winterhold now, just in case. Didn't even send a letter to tell them I wasn't coming back. They probably think I got eaten by a bear or some hardheaded bandit on the road back… sometimes, I think- well, what about you?"

"Me." Karliah raised an eyebrow.

"You. How did you end up with the guild?"

"It was a very long time ago. I joined just a few years after Mercer did."

There was a slight tension in the Imperial's forehead, and the butterflies blinked. Her voice, however, was still normal. "So a ve-e-ery long time ago."

"Joke all you want, but those were the best years of my life. It was before the Nightingales, before-"

"Mercer killed your lover and betrayed the guild and forced you into exile… yeah. Tell me about it."

The butterflies turned an angry red color, and their wings started beating faster.

"Something has been bothering you since then, hasn't it?" Karliah asked cautiously.

"Why would you think that?"

"You've been tiptoeing around everyone at the guild, and I'm going to guess the Brotherhood is no different for you. Brynjolf said you're avoiding him."

Léta pressed her lips into a tight line. "The guilt trip isn't going to work, you know."

"I know," Karliah's cool was always enviable, but it only frustrated the girl further. "I just don't see why you can't trust Brynjolf. He's taught you, he became a Nightingale with you, and he cares for you. I might be none of my business, but-"

"You're right." The butterflies popped like tiny soap bubbles. "It isn't any of your business. Though thanks for reminding me of something. I wanted to ask for a while, but do you think Mercer did what he did because he was jealous?"

"Jealous." The Dunmer repeated in monotone. "I assume you're not speaking of my archery skills. Why would you think so?"

"When I first delivered your name to him, he described you almost… fondly. Well, underneath the alarm and malice, anyway."

"You think he was jealous, so he stole a priceless and vital artifact, doomed the Guild, killed Gallus, framed me for it, and spent the next twenty years living lavishly off of the Guild's resources?"

Léta bit her lip. "I didn't say I thought that was the real reason. Mercer was a greedy bastard above all else, but... don't stare at me like that, it was just a thought."

"That silver tongue of yours might get you out of most trouble, but I've known men that could sell sin to saints. You're hardly more impressive," Karliah smiled calmly. "I'll have to admit, though, you're skilled at leading off the subject."

"I picked the school of Illusion for a reason," Léta shrugged, neither denying nor agreeing to anything.

There was silence. The Imperial whispered her spell, this time summoning tiny little crows. They resumed the same circle around the candle, drops of ink in a swirl pool.

"I trusted him." Léta finally said. "I trusted that bastard even against my better judgment. I trusted him not to slit my throat when he asked me to demonstrate my skills against him, I trusted him when he watched my back in Snow Veil Sanctum, and hell, I even trusted him when there was an arrow sticking out of my chest and I was helpless on the floor of that damned crypt. I was willing to put my life into his hands even though he was a thief and a criminal, even though he never showed even the slightest hint of trust or sentiment in return, and despite all questionable rumors about him. And in the end, all he told me was that I should have known better."

"You are not the only one he had fooled, Léta," Karliah replied gently.

"I know. And I know I have no right to feel so betrayed in comparison to the rest of the guild- and especially not to you. But it doesn't change anything." Léta took her hands away from the table before the Dunmer's reached them. The crows kept on spinning. "Karliah, I want to ask you something, and please don't give me any of the sugary bullshit people are trying to feed to me."

"I'll try."

"Is there anyone in this world you can trust?"

"No." Karliah replied simply. "Everyone will betray you one way or another. It's like gambling- sooner or later, all luck will fail. But that doesn't mean you can't win yourself a fortune before that happens."

Léta smirked bitterly and with disbelief, looked up from the crows, and stared straight through the other woman's red eyes. "You've thought about this before."

"Twenty five years of hiding is a long time. Even for me."

She got up, meaning to go and get some food from the cupboards. When she glanced back, Léta was still sitting in her spot, but the candle was extinguished and the crows were gone. She was resting her forehead on her arms, and for a moment, Karliah imagined small tremors that went through the girl's body.

But no- when Léta rose again, not a second later, her face was dry, and her eyes only tired.


	5. Persuasion Checks

_A/N- Nothing terribly exciting, though the chapter did get away from me at one point. Hm._

* * *

><p><span>Persuasion Checks<span>

"You know, for someone who made a dramatic exit, I come back here surprisingly often," Léta commented to Karliah upon entering the Cistern from the secret door. Well, her exit wasn't that dramatic. Or anything, really. She didn't even tell anyone where she was off to; just left like she normally would and didn't come back until two months later. Caused a little bit of a stir, she heard later from Delvin, and no wonder- the last time she was gone for so long it was because Karliah was extracting an arrow from her chest.

The Dunmer smiled, "It's been a year, and it's still strange to be able to walk in here without people grabbing for their blades. But you're right; a thief's path always seems to loop through here."

"It's been a year?" Léta looked at her with slight confusion. "Huh. I really need to start keeping track."

"How long did you think it was?"

"I don't know. Longer. Hey, Sapphire," she was distracted by the woman leaning onto the wall beside the entrance.

"And look what the cat's dragged in! You don't write, you don't visit… thought you finally ended up dead in a ditch somewhere." The woman didn't even bother to take her arms out of the customary grim cross over her chest.

"I've been busy. What the hell is going on in here? Did all the jobs get canceled or something?"

"Nah, everyone is licking their wounds," Sapphire shrugged. "Then Brynjolf goes and orders a lock-down 'til we get some proper info. Which better be soon, I have a caravan that needs wrecking."

"He _ordered _a lock-down?" Léta found that very hard to believe. The man asked, or suggested very strongly (and everyone usually preferred to follow), but she has yet to hear an order out of him.

"Shouting "Everyone, shut up and stay where you are" while storming out the door constitutes as an order. Last time we did this, you were hunting for Mercer's blood."

"Did we lose anyone?" Karliah asked, concerned.

"No. Scrapes and bruises aside, everyone's ready to break some bones. Heard Léta got chased half-way through Skyrim, that true?"

"Barely," Léta replied grimly, throwing a look around the Cistern. Everyone was home, and whoever wasn't, was probably at the Flagon. "They were waiting for me near Whiterun. I managed to get away at Fort Amol, and lost them in the woods."

The thief snorted. "Looks like you got the amateurs. The rest at least set up half-decent ambushes. You're saying they were just politely waiting on the road?"

"Now that I think about it, yeah, it was a bit strange. At the time, I was a distracted by the arrows they tried to put through my skull," Léta shrugged. "But considering they attacked Maven, I think they're just arrogant."

"They got off easy, then. You want more than that, head on over to Brynjolf and Thrynn, they're interrogating one of them in the training room."

"We managed to catch one?"

_Good news._

"Yeah, and hopefully they'll get something out of him soon because Maven is one stupid comment away from a warpath."

Léta bit her lip in worry on that one. Maven was crucial to the Guild's continuing survival, and if that meant blowing dust bits off her shoulder, the entire Ratway would be following her day and night. She knew the exact distance her influence extended, and never hesitated in taking advantage of it. But even that wouldn't last long if assassins continued to knock on her front door.

While she and Karliah moved towards the training room, she thought that it was a true shame that she only wandered into the Cistern on business these days. She spotted Rune sending her a cheerful smile from one of the tables, which she immediately returned. Niruin and Cynric gave her invitational waves, but she only shook her head, pointing in the direction they were heading.

The man that was tied to the chair in the middle of the training room met them with an asymmetrical glare. He already had blood on his chin and a bandage on his leg. Brynjolf and Thrynn were standing on behind him, quietly talking, both with grim expressions.

"Where did you catch this specimen?" Léta wondered, and they turned to her.

Brynjolf answered, "Maven's bodyguards aren't made of nothing. He ain't talking, but now that you're here I have a feeling he'll start."

She could see the prisoner's eyes widen slightly in alarm, and she gave him her best carnivorous smile.

"I could just break a few of his bones. That should get him talking," Thrynn was present for the bruising purposes, that much was obvious. Léta waved his suggestion off, though.

"There's no reason to cripple him. Yet. Now let's see here…"

The captured attacker was an Altmer, something she noted with little surprise. He was wearing battered leather armor that was darkened with black dye. There were no emblems, no signs of origins, and the pockets were emptied. He stared at her with grim golden eye (the other was bruised and swollen), and then spat blood onto the floor at her feet.

"Did you knock out a tooth?" She wondered at Brynjolf.

"I hope so."

"No notes or letters, I take it?"

"There was a decoy. Aside from that, nothing."

She didn't ask to see the note, trusting him on the assessment. Instead, she pulled out her knife. "You want to be here for this?"

Both men snorted as if to say "_I've seen much worse than you've got to offer_". Karliah moved over to their end of the room, out of sight of the prisoner, and Léta shrugged with acceptance. It hardly mattered either way.

"So, let's start with the basics, shall we? Who are you?"

Contemptuous silence.

"Now, this won't work if you don't open your mouth," she sat right onto the elf's injured leg, leaning onto the chair over his shoulder. He clenched his teeth, but a whine of pain still got through. Point. "You know what's going to happen if you don't talk, right?"

"Let me guess. You'll make me suffer," he offered, trying his best to sound bored. She laughed.

"Yes, that's the gist of it. It's been a while since I did this, so you'll forgive me if I seem a bit indecisive, though…"

She gently ran the blade across his jaw, leaving a hair-thin cut behind. He didn't flinch.

"I mean, I could start with your eyes, and work my way down to your stomach… or would you like me to cut to the chase and go for the lower parts?"

"Do you think I'm afraid of you?" he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and threatening.

"If you were smart you would be," she shrugged, watching the point of her blade with interest as it stopped an inch away from his healthy eyeball. "That's my family you tried to harm, elf. If it were any other case, you'd be already be screaming by now. But you have information, and that means you can still get out alive. Now, once more. Who are you? Did someone hire you, or is this a personal interest? Mercenaries are not usually so loyal."

"You know nothing, human wench," he spat at her. Very carefully, however, because one small flinch and the tip of the knife would have driven itself into his eye socket.

"Talk business, not insults. And trust me when I say that if don't you spill your guts figuratively, it will be literal."

"Kill me, and you'll have nothing!"

"Who said anything about killing you?" she feigned surprise. "Oh no, you would be alive long enough to smell them burning. Now. Talk, or do I have to start carving?"

There was a silence in which she could almost hear gears turning in his head as he tried to process the situation. She patiently waited.

Finally, he asked, "How do I know you won't kill me if I tell you?"

"You don't. But tell me, what's better, the good chance of getting out of here alive, or being tortured and then killed anyway just on principle?"

Tense moments passed. The muscles on his jaws were playing, and his golden eyes were burning holes in hers, but her face remained stoically passive.

"Alright," she shrugged finally, moving the knife closer with determination.

His nerves gave out before it could reach its goal, though. He jerked his head away, all his resolve faltering.

"Fine! Get that thing away from me! I'll tell you what I know."

She frowned. "Oh, come on, we haven't even started yet! You couldn't hold off until after I got the eye out?"

"Just- it's not worth it, I'll tell you what you want to know!"

"Alright then. So, who the hell are you?"

"Summerset Shadows. I'm one- was one of them." He hurried to say, his one eye still focusing on the tip of the blade. "Guess there's no way back for me now."

"Uh-huh. Who else was it?"

Her question seemed to surprise him. "No one."

"Why don't I believe you? Right, maybe because there is no way you could have known where to find any of us unless you had an informant."

"Whatever informants Nimwe keeps, I don't know them."

She believed him. Despite the obvious arrogance and underestimation of the enemy, someone still managed to track them down. That meant the leader had at least half a grain more brains than the average thief, and that meant he wouldn't be throwing valuable names around. She continued with the question.

"Well, now, the million septim question- what kind of madness possessed you to attack us, and then _fail_?"

Now he just looked insulted. "The plan was to distract your Guild, kill a few of you, and assassinate your benefactor. That would wipe you off the map, and place us on it."

Brynjolf let out a humorless laugh. "Killing off the competition simply because it's there? How barbarically petty of you."

"Hm. So why did I get the part of the fox in the Royal Hunt?"

"Léta Lusilion is an infamous name these days," Brynjolf supplied before the Altmer could speak. "You weren't exactly discrete with your identity during the attempts on the Emperor. They probably decided you were a bigger threat than us."

Léta clenched her jaw and looked over at Thrynn, who showed no surprise at the information. He just stared at her with grim confusion and irritation.

That made her feel strangely ashamed. Luckily, the emotion didn't last for longer than a second because the prisoner started talking again.

"I don't know what you're talking about. There were two men on each person, three on Maven. You shouldn't flatter yourself, human."

He seemed to be telling the truth, surprisingly enough. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Where is your hideout?"

He suddenly started laughing. Hysterically and with bitter humor.

"Did I say something funny?"

"You caught the wrong Altmer for questioning!" he giggled, and she was suddenly worried that his mind snapped under stress. "This was my initiation! I've never been to the hideout myself! They would have let me in as soon as we came back!"

Léta believed that, too. There weren't many people that could lie to her, and this one was radiating desperate honesty like an innocent man on the block. She got off of him, but didn't put her blade away just yet. "Bryn, it's your call. Want me kill him now, or will you deal with him?"

"There is always time to execute him later, lass." He shrugged. "We'll keep him for now, make sure he isn't lying. Then we'll see."

"Suit yourself."

"Thrynn, secure him. You two, let's go," he waved to Léta and Karliah, leading towards the Flagon. The sounds of talk and drinking reached them before they could even push the doors of the cabinet. The underground tavern was popular tonight, and no wonder. Delvin and Vex held the only table with any seats, and that's where they headed.

"And there is our hero," Vex greeted in a bored voice, her eyes on Léta. "Where's my money?"

"Hey Vex. I missed you too." Léta replied sarcastically as she sat down. Her relationship with Vex was a stringy mutual respect and co-operation, but they were by no means friends. "What money, sunshine?"

"Are you daft? The money off that heist in Whiterun we did a month ago? Ring any bells?"

"Right. The one with the big, heavy amulet. What about it?" The Imperial raised her eyebrows, pouring herself some wine from the pitcher.

"You forgot." Vex wasn't amused, "What the hell's gotten into you lately? Did you hit your head falling down stairs? You didn't used to have memory problems."

Léta waved the comment off. "Vex, relax. Here's your share so you can sleep at night," Léta took out her money purse and counted of the agreed amount that she only vaguely recalled. The job was a small sidetrack in her then busy career in the Dark Brotherhood, and the heist was a simple warm-up for her. Then things got… complicated.

"And don't forget to mark it in your busy, busy schedule to get that trinket to the client." Satisfied with the money, but still in a bad mood, Vex snapped again.

"I gave it to him already, I just forgot that there was more to it than that."

"Well, try not to forget next time, or you can look for a different partner."

"Hey, you came to me, not the other way around!"

"Girls, settle down," Delvin finally stepped in. "Vex, you got your money, client's been dealt with, so can we get back to our problems? What did you get outta the elf?"

"He's with the Summerset Shadows." Brynjolf filled them in. "Decided to coup the Guild, become the local favorite instead."

"What? That's it? We got attacked by some elf-only club?" Vex snorted. "No wonder those guys didn't even manage to hold me long enough for ropes."

"Well, I'll take three guesses as to why they would want to attack the Guild right after I heroically rescued Etienne out of the clutches of the Thalmor." Léta leaned forward on the table. "So here's a theory: the Thalmor hired them."

"I thought you swept your trail," brows were furrowed all around.

"I _did._" She screwed up her mouth, "After the confusion I forced into their heads, they wouldn't have recognized their own mothers. All other witnesses were killed, and the only suspect remaining was the Dragonborn and Etienne himself."

"Nazir was with you, wasn't he?" Delvin reminded her.

"Nazir is a professional, and he was working something unrelated. Though there was a little Bosmer elf with us when we got out of there, informant that got the Dragonborn his invitation. He could have been caught…"

"Why do you even think the Thalmor are involved?"

"I wasn't chased by these Summerset Shadows. Those amateurs never found me. There were definitely five of them, and they had expert mages, in the least. No one can make horses run like that without magical aid."

"It could've been separate attempts."

"The timing is too perfect," Brynjolf shook his head, agreeing with Léta. "But I've known you for three years, and you never slipped up in all that time. How did they know you were at the Embassy?"

"Someone tipped them off," Vex shrugged. "Or perhaps our dear Léta isn't as perfect as you make her sound."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, little Vex," Delvin smirked.

"Don't mind her, she's still bitter over Goldenglow estate," Léta snorted, earning a glare from Vex, and a laugh from Brynjolf and Delvin.

"What I meant is, you used those tricks of yours in the _Thalmor _Embassy. You really think they thought for even for a second that the oaf could pull off a confusion spell?"

"Met him, did you?" Léta said automatically before making a grimace or realization.

"Sure, sure, he makes an impression. Big man, big sword, very memorable," Vex shrugged. "But you know I'm right about the spells."

"You're right about the spells," the Imperial nodded, slightly put out. "That would explain them digging deeper…Damn, I screwed up. Well, in any case, it doesn't matter now. They probably have informants in every city, so they were bound to find me eventually."

"We've been on the lookout ever since Etienne returned, actually," Brynjolf told her. "We haven't had much luck, but the Dragonborn killed one of their agents right in the middle of the market last morning. Shavari attacked him as soon as he got near."

"Shavari?" Léta remembered that one. She was a Khajiit that always hung around the markets and slept at the Bee and the Barb. They never had any kind of trouble from her, though. "What happened?"

"Dunno. He picked up anything she might have carried, guards got rid of the body. She was shouting something about "You shouldn't have meddled with Thalmor business" before she died, though."

"Can we stop talking about the Thalmor now?" Vex cut the conversation off. "They're out of reach, the Summerset Shadows are not. Let's get rid of them before they try something again. And remind me again why we still haven't?"

"They've been keeping their heads down to this point, sweeping trails and the like." Delvin shrugged. "Why the Thalmor would deal with a bunch of cutthroats, though, now that's…"

"Both want allies in Skyrim." Karliah offered. She was left standing, leaning against one of the crates besides the table, and playing the silent sentient up until this point. Everyone has already caught on that she wasn't nearly as vocal and chatty as the rest of the Guild (likely a habit developed in her exile), so no one actively tried to invite her into the discussion. "The Thalmor need shadows, and the Shadows need contacts in the higher circles."

"And after their stunt with Etienne, they knew they could expect any dealings with us." Brynjolf finished. "Makes sense."

"No, it makes no sense." Léta shook her head. "Arrogant or not, why did they move against Maven? Removing her is an extremely stupid idea, failing to do so is even worse. They couldn't have miscalculated, those stuck up bastards are smarter than that."

"And they probably wanted exactly this," Bryn concluded. "Us in a panic, Maven furious, everyone on a lock-down. I wouldn't be surprised if us removing the Shadows is part of their plan as well. The more conflict in Skyrim, the better for them."

"So what do we do?"

"One way or the other, the Shadows are competition and a threat, and they need to be removed. Delvin, if you have any-"

"Don't look now," Karliah suddenly interrupted. "But I think we have another problem on our hands."

Despite her warning, all looked around to the entrance of the Flagon, and Léta nearly groaned. "You have to be joking."

"I thought he left." Delvin grimly commented. "He went by with the mad man from the Vaults just last night."

"Well, looks like he's back." Brynjolf didn't look pleased at all. "Lass, it was your idea to get him involved at the Embassy. This is on your head. Get him out of here."

"Yeah, yeah," she snapped, getting up. "I know the drill."

Dirge predictably didn't offer any resistance to the man's arrival, only shooting him a glare that promised violence when he passed. Voar disregarded the man with a sideways glance, just like he ignored all the suspicious stares he got from the patrons of the Flagon. Between leather and daggers, his steel and greatsword stood out like a lion in a rat den. He didn't seem to notice, though.

Léta weaved between the tables, and before Voar could say even a word or make it too deep into the tavern, hooked her arm around his.

"You must be one of the most suicidal man I've ever met," she growled to Voar, leading him back out of the Flagon before he could even see her. The effect would have been the same as trying to drag a mammoth by the trunk if he wasn't too surprised to resist. "I've got this one, Dirge."

The bouncer nodded, continuing to impersonate an immovable boulder.

Voar was not happy to see her. It almost hurt.

"Funny how you were non-existent when I was asking around here. Didn't expect you to come out hiding so soon."

"The fact that you even thought of asking around here speaks volumes of your intelligence Congratulations, you found me. Now what?"

"Now, we do this…" he twisted her arm around, pulled her into one of the storage nooks and slamming her into the wall out of sight of the rest. She bit her lip when the stone bruised her ribcage and shoulder, but didn't try resisting.

"Now is that any way to treat a woman?"

"Oh, no, darlin', I am not taking any chances with you this time." His voice was a mixture between mockery and anger. He was_ really_ not happy with her.

Léta was thinking fast, trying not to panic. "I suppose civilized conversation is not an option?"

"We did this dance before, remember? I'm not falling for your chatter again."

Her arm hurt where it was twisted high up on her back, and his grip was a steel cuff. The position was getting more and more uncomfortable. "It was nothing personal. I couldn't risk the Thalmor turning their eyes on us."

"You set me up. You didn't really think I'd just let that go, did you?"

"Of course not. That would have been the smart thing to do."

"So why shouldn't I just lop off your head right here and now? If not for myself, then how about the fact that you _murdered the bleeding emperor?" _

_Okay, definitely angry now…_

"Yell louder, please. I don't think the guards in Solitude quite heard you," she rolled her eyes to the wall. Her disregard for the subject took Voar aback. "But you are smarter than you look, I'll give you that. Been doing your research, which is admirable. But listen, if you came here to read me a lecture in morals, you're wasting your time. If you came here to do Tamriel a service, then get it over with. If not, I have places to be." She twisted her head around, her eyes coldly on his. "Well?"

His fingers flexed as though he was sorely tempted to do just that, "Usually criminals deny their crimes, and cowards plead for their lives."

"Shows what you know about criminals and cowards. Look around the corner, Dragonborn. Why do you think none of them are even looking this way? Until I'm dead, this business is between you and me. But Dirge is always looking for a skull to bash, and I don't think the rest of them would appreciate my head rolling on the floor as much as the Imperial guard."

Seconds trickled by. Then the grip on her tightened for a moment, and let go. She rolled her shoulders with relief, and turned around, leaning onto the wall properly this time. He was towering over her, but she refused to feel intimidated.

"So how much of what told me back there was a lie?"

"Anything in particular you're wondering about?"

"That you were there to rescue your brother, for starters."

"Etienne is as much my family as anyone in this guild." Her cheek twitched, as though she was admitting something no outsider was allowed to hear. Yet this was her ticket out of this.

"And the assassination of one of the guests?"

"Nazir had a job to do, and I told him to frame someone to avoid attention."

"Wasn't his name Alamand?"

"And listing every single lie I've ever told would take a decade, and I just don't have that kind of time." Léta finally snapped. "Would you also like to know the ingredients of the paralytic poison I'd used and the smallclothes I was wearing at the time?"

"You used me."

"And you got your damned journals, didn't you? I held up my end. Now can I please get back to business?"

"I'm still trying to decide whether or not to just kill you right not."

"Take your shot. I'm not a fighter, I won't stand much of a chance against you. But don't expect to leave this place without a knife in the back if I'm anything less than breathing."

The tense silence that followed included much cold glaring and the air between then was practically cracking. Léta crossed her arms. "It didn't work. The Thalmor found out about my involvement, and now they're targeting the guild. And if I find out that you had something to do with that, there will be hell to pay."

"Me? Dealing with those puffed up peacocks? Not even for you." Voar shook his mane of blond hair. He had calmed down significantly- at the very least he didn't look like he was itching for a blade. "Though if they want to clean out this nest of bandits, I won't stand in their way."

Léta was getting so very tired. "We're not bandits, we're thieves."

"From where I'm standing, there's no difference."

Now she was beginning to get angry. He was unknowingly pushing all the right buttons. "Look, you got what you wanted- the old man from the Vaults, who, by the way, we were paid to forget until someone started losing blood over it. You are still alive, and no worse off. So just leave, please. This isn't the place for someone like you and we have bigger problems to deal with."

Voar snorted, but this time, it was almost sympathetic. "As do I. But if I were you, I'd watch my back."

The next few moments was a mute scene- neither wanted to show their backs to the other. Finally, Léta took her luck, and walked away.

"It's not my back I'm worried about, Dragonborn," she muttered quietly under her breath when she was already up the walkway. She nodded to Dirge in confirmation, and his stance relaxed a bit.

"Want me to keep him out from now on?"

The woman shook her head, and regretted it as she was suddenly dizzy. She grimaced, leaning onto the rails. "Risk broken tables and blood on the floor? Let him come if he's so brave."

"If you fall here, I'm kicking you into the cistern to clear the way," Dirge warned, and she hurried to get inside.

"-Niruin and Thrynn should be able to handle it just fine." Brynjolf was now standing behind his chair, his hands on the back of it. "Might get a little hairy, but-"

"I'm coming," Léta rubbed her face before sitting down in her former spot. "Talos knows I need to kill something right about now."

The declaration took everyone by surprise. "Lass, they can manage fine without you if you have better things to do."

"I don't," she cut off. "We have to do this right, or Maven will go ballistic, and we can't have that. Us three should manage just fine with the Shadows. Delvin, did you send the message to Nazir?"

"Aye."

"Then no one will miss me. I'm coming."

"Not in this shape you're not." One glance at her pale face told the story.

"How much force did you use on the poor boy?" Delvin raised his eyebrows.

"That specimen is very thick-skulled and strong-willed," she ground out, "I still had to do most of the work with words, not spells. If I haven't, I think this charming little face would have been staring at you from the bottom of the cistern right about now. Anyone have a magicka potion on hand?"

Vex silently pushed her own mug towards her, which Léta took without complaining. Wine was not a good substitute for alchemical mixtures, but it helped.

Spells by themselves, as a rule, required the minimal amount of magicka. But using it as she did, stealthily searching for back doors and holding back the lighting effects; that took the most effort. Each time she cursed her tiny mana pool, and each time the feeling of fatigue was unavoidable. But each time, it was necessary. The Dragonborn was _pissed._

"Fine, lass, you can go. But not before you deal with Maven." Brynjolf suddenly declared, and she threw him a surprised glance.

"What do you need me to do that for?"

"She needs reassurance that you had nothing to do with the attack, of course," he looked directly at her, and she suddenly understood what he meant.

"Maven it is, then," she nodded.

* * *

><p>The girl was playing him. Voar knew it as soon as his anger began subsiding, and the persistent image of the snowy nights in Bruma kept shoving its way into his focus. Her face became more and more pale the longer she talked, and having already seen what spells do to her, it was telling. He knew what she was doing, but couldn't help it when he calmed down and began to listen to her. After all, she did sound… reasonable…<p>

But that wasn't the end of that. He may have let her live, but that did not mean he trusted her. And whatever business she had, it couldn't have been good.

So what did he do? Why, what any self-respecting hero would do- he followed her.

_It would take a while for Esbern and Delphine to find the entrance to the Blades Temple, anyway..._

She left through the back with two of her friends (partners, siblings, evil masterminds?)- the red-haired Nord and a dark elf that hid her face under a hood. Voar had no path through there, so he hurried to do what Léta had suggested to him- leave through the front door.

The upstanding citizens that lived in the Ratway sewers didn't give him any trouble, just scurried off like real rats whenever he neared. There were many here- beggars, mercenaries, bandits. Once he even spotted a young Breton mother with her son, whose face was smeared with dirt, both dressed in rags.

When he passed, he handed her a handful of coins. She stared at him as though she thought she was dreaming, and her eyes began to fill with tears. He hurried off before she could begin crying, though.

When he made it to the surface, he took a deep breath. The charming smells of sewage, sweat and blood were replaced by fish and stale water, though it was still a step up.

As he had already learned in his visit to Riften, the number one rule of the markets was to watch your purse. After catching a little child red-handed (after which a crazy Khajiit ran at him with a knife), he put his money away to his bag (which he also didn't dare leaving out of his sight).

He was really starting to dislike the city. Just as he really disliked its citizens.

Léta was alone now, and changed. She was no longer wearing the black armor, but simple, male clothing. She was still like a piece of the void moving through the crowds, but the clothing made her appear a lot more… fragile, more vulnerable, underlining her now obvious lack of curves and making her look like a teenage boy more than anything.

"_Just another mask you wear, isn't it?"_

Voar knew he was right on that. While he had no doubts she could play the role of a mouse as well as a coldblooded murder, he could still see the coiled tension in her confident stride, ready to fight or bolt within a moment. She walked through the market circle as though she owned it.

Well, while she cut through the market, giving a few friendly waves, grinning charmingly at a few of the men, and habitually glaring at a pickpocket who was aiming at her, Voar was having a little more trouble. People parted for him, but the looks they cast him were suspicious and paranoid. Those likely mistaken him for another bruiser looking for a stall to wreck. A few looked at him with astonished recognition, to which he smiled.

"Hey, wait!"

Léta turned around in surprise, and the next moment, a boy of twelve suddenly burst through the crowd and nearly crashed into her.

Voar got closer, coming from behind her so she would spot him.

"Aventus Aretino, what in Oblivion are you doing?" Léta was laughing while trying to sound scolding.

"It's you! It's really you! You came back to Riften!" The boy was excitedly chanting while she steered him clear of the markets and into the freer side alleys.

"And so did you! I thought you'd be staying in that house in Windhelm forever."

"With Grelod gone, it's been much better here," the boy assured her. "Constance takes good care of us- some kids were even adopted! Can you believe it?"

Voar couldn't see her face, but her voice was quiet and amused. "I'm glad I could help."

Voar furrowed his eyebrows. She _killed _someone in that orphanage, and now everyone's happy? That did not add up in his head.

"One day, though, I'll be of age, and then I can live in my house again. And you can come visit me there!"

"If I live long enough, sure." She was humoring the kid. "Look, I have-"

"Aventus! Aventus Aretino!" a shrill, panicking voice rose, and both Léta and the boy turned around to the woman who was running to them. "Oh, don't run away like that, you had me so worried. Thank you-uh."

The woman got a good look at Léta, and her face drained of color. That seemed to amuse the criminal, because she gave her a nod, and her voice took a mockingly concerned tone to it.

"Is something the matter? You seem a little pale."

"N- no. Everything is fine- Come along Aventus…"

"But Constance…"

"It's alright, go with her. I have a few things I need to do."

"Ooooh, you mean for the-"

"Yes, now shoo." There were paranoid glances in the direction of the guards from both women and likely different reasons. Constance hurried to lead the boy away, still casting Léta frightened looks over her shoulder.

When the woman turned around, her smile immediately disappeared off her face, as though she had been plastering it all along. The sudden exhaustion on her face took him by surprise. Meanwhile, she continued on her way through Riften.

Voar continued to follow her, suddenly realizing that while he was watching the scene, an urchin that got a hang of his belt where his purse was usually hanging. He swatted the hand away, noticing a man in the crowds carefully watching his reaction. By the looks of him, he was a thief himself, and probably ready to raise noise if Voar tried to do anything with his apprentice.

The Dragonborn scoffed, feeling strangely irritated, but continued to follow Léta without a word.

The woman, Mjoll, whom he'd met at the gates the day before, had the same frustrated look on her face. And he now understood why. This city was some kind of new hell for people like him.

* * *

><p>Léta found Maven Black-Briar in her usual spot, upstairs of the Bee and Barb tavern, sitting in a secluded booth. As soon as she got near, a grim-faced mercenary moved into her path.<p>

"Get lost," he barked at her.

"Can't do that, sorry. I have business with Maven."

"What part of "get lost" don't you get?"

"The part where it's some penny-paid, low-life mongrel barking at me," she replied in kind.

"Let her through," Mistress Black-Briar herself called in a bored tone from her table. The mercenary glared at Léta, but moved. Very slowly and without taking his eyes off of her. The Imperial just smiled, and moved towards the booth.

"Feeling a might jumpy tonight, are they?" Léta raised her eyebrows, sitting herself opposite of Maven. The woman spared her a quick glance before returning to her meal. "Where's your son?"

"Taking care of business." The older woman shrugged. "I remember you. You're the one that Brynjolf sent to me for the Meadery job. I haven't seen you in a long time."

The good part of that was the fact that Léta has already gone through the subtle trials and probing questions, and came out unscathed (a few bruises on her ego not withstanding), so now they could talk straight business.

"Yes, but I'm not here on behalf of Brynjolf this time."

"No? What is this, then?"

"As it so happens…" Léta cast another glance in the direction of Maven's bodyguard. "I'm here for the Dark Brotherhood."

Now that got a reaction. Maven threw her eyes at her as though she was joking. Then there was irritation.

"I usually deal with Astrid in these matters."

Léta scraped her teeth over her lip. "Astrid's dead. She died in the sanctuary. I'm- well, I'm the current leader."

"Really? Well, you've certainly moved up in the world," Maven still looked suspicious of the claim, but not particularly distraught over Astrid's death. "Tell me, then, why has Astrid ignored the sacrament for the last year?"

_Because the Night Mother and the Listener were just an unpleasant complications. _

"There have been technical difficulties. But I assure you, if there is a sacrament, I will hear it." Léta kept her voice carefully polite. "As I understand, you and Astrid had a business agreement."

"Yes, I suppose you can say that." She agreed. "Unfortunately, all contracts I had for you are long since taken care of."

"What a shame." The words had no weight or emotion. If there was one thing Léta was absolutely sure of in this world, it was that Maven Black-Briar was not a fool. She knew her cards, and exactly when to put them on the table. And the Dark Brotherhood was something every politician and aristocrat secretly wanted in their pockets.

Maven seemed to know her exact string of though at that moment, because a small smirk graced her lips, disappearing immediately after.

"The Emperor was your doing, wasn't it?"

"Why would you say that?" Léta was getting slightly annoyed. Did all of Tamriel know she was the one to kill Titus?

Stupid question. Of course it did. The Thalmor didn't hold a candle to the efforts of the Penitus Oculatus in smoking her out before she could reach the sanctuary, after she escaped from Maro. The elven bastards probably snagged her description right out of their files, too. She would have to see about getting her hands on those...

"It is none of my concern," Maven waved it off. "Emperors rise and fall. But you have earned your reputation. Yes, I believe we can do business."

Léta smiled, hiding her feeling of triumph. "I hope you know that we had nothing to do with the attempt on you."

"I figured that out already. It was too sloppy to be one of yours. Does Brynjolf know who did it?"

"We're taking care of it."

"Good. Go and take care of it, then."

Léta stood up with a respectful nod.

"From a mage student with sticky fingers to the best assassin in Skyrim," Maven suddenly called her back, and she turned around, her eyebrows raised. "How does it feel?"

"Couldn't be happier."

"You're miserable," Maven scoffed. "You never wanted to lead anything. You were perfectly content with following orders for the rest of your life. But fate just keeps dropping it on your lap, doesn't it..."

Léta bit her lip, unwilling to show just how close to home that hit. "I don't believe in fate."

Maven's expression was one of pity now. "And when Mara was handing out ambition, you were standing in line for a second helping of luck. And it seems like it's your curse now."

That sounded like an insult. Léta clenched her jaw. "Perceptive and wise as always, ma'am. Except you're wrong. If anything, this means I won."

Maven looked at her with skeptical surprise. "What did you win? A position you never wanted and two guilds looking at you as though you're the messiah sent to bring them into the light? Don't fool yourself."

"With your permission?" Léta forced the polite excuse out of her throat, and Maven waved her of, having lost interest in the conversation.

The damned woman always knew more than Delvin's contacts combined.

* * *

><p>To her surprise, it was not Niruin or Rune waiting for her at the stables when she finally made it outside the city gates.<p>

"Going somewhere?" She raised her eyebrows when she came up to him.

Brynjolf just continued to strap his bag to the saddle of his chestnut mare without looking to her. "You're a good thief, Léta."

"Er, thank you?"

"But you are a terrible fighter. Doesn't matter if you run with the Dark Brotherhood now, don't forget who was yelling at you for incompetence after sparring."

"Mercer and Vex, while you just looked like someone pissed in your soup," she glared at him. She didn't like it when people told her what she could and couldn't do, especially when she was well aware of her own flaws. "I still don't get why you're coming instead of say, Niruin."

"Because of your incompetence with direct combat, you will be killing targets slowly and quietly, and Niruin isn't much of a sneak. Hell of an archer, but that won't help you if you're on the front when he sets off the alarm."

"So Sapphire or Rune. Vex is even better than you with a blade."

"Careful with your words, or I might think you don't want me to come," When he turned to her, his eyes looked her up and down and then he nodded with approval. She wasn't wearing her reliable Nightingale armor for travelling- it was all packed into the bags. Instead, she wore her civilian clothes that consisted of a fitted, warm black shirt and pants, soft leather boots and a furred cloak. More dangerous, but less recognizable.

"Oh, by all means. I know what's going on; you got bored of playing merchant, and decided to shake your routine up a bit."

"Cheap shot. Léta, you were right earlier. We have to do this right, without giving them a chance to regroup or try again. We've been lucky so far, and I'd rather that trend continue."

She sighed, coming up to the painted horse she was borrowing for the trip. Shadowmere was also easily recognizable, and even though there were no Thalmor this close to Stormcloak central, she didn't like taking chances.

"So you did just get bored with playing a merchant and selling rat droppings?"

"I haven't done that in months, lass," he chuckled. "Since someone ran off and left me to get the Guild back in order, I haven't had the time."

That brought her conversation with Maven back, and she frowned. "Are we going to do this again?"

"No," he shook his head, mounting the horse. He was also wearing his civilian clothes. It was safer to look the part of a traveling merchant sometimes, though it did invite bandits. But bandits were easier to deal with than military or patrolling guardsmen.

Léta followed suit, climbing onto her horse. "So I've yet to hear a truthful reason out of you."

He was silent for a long moment while they rode off down the road, heading North. She was beginning to doubt he would even respond when he finally opened his mouth again.

"I have a bad feeling about this job, so I changed my mind at the last second."

"What kind of bad feeling?" she asked cautiously. A thief was nothing without his instincts, and she trusted Brynjolf's as much as she trusted her own.

"The type where if I send either Niruin or Vex or anyone else with you, something bad will definitely happen. This whole thing has an odor to it, lass."

"I think you're being paranoid." She scoffed quietly when she suddenly remembered that the last time she said that to someone, she ended up being locked in a coffin with a talking corpse. Though if she was being honest with herself, she was glad Brynjolf decided to come instead of sending someone else. They worked better together; their little mentor-protégé relationship gave them a certain edge.

Brynjolf glanced behind all of a sudden, and then smiled, shaking his head. "Wait a moment."

Léta looked around to find a little Khajiit with deep bronze fur and Guild armor on the road behind them. Bryn turned his horse around and came up to the girl, leaving Léta up the road.

"Go back to the Guild, lass," Brynjolf was telling her, "If you want a job talk to old Delvin or Vex."

"Master Brynjolf is leaving with a stranger. This one is worried. Who is the black lady?" Her voice sounded paranoid and cautious, though Léta guessed more than anything, having a hard time figuring out the purring voices of that race.

"Léta is in the Guild, she just hasn't been in for a long time, and when she is she avoids me, so you probably never saw her."

Amber cat eyes stared at the woman. Léta tilted her head, not quite managing a friendly smile. She didn't make it a habit to be friendly with those that so openly disliked her.

"This one can't come with you?"

"No. We are already risking attention by traveling together, and I want you in Riften."

"I will go. Be careful."

"New student?" Léta asked, trying her best to sound neutral. It didn't fool him.

"Down girl," Bryn smiled. "Your jealousy is unnecessary. I haven't been able to find anyone quite up to your talent yet."

"Good, I was worried I had to kill her to maintain my position," she snorted, but the joke was greeted with unease. "I was kidding. Relax. I'm not quite as psychotic as you might want to believe. She seems like a good kitten."

"She's quick and enthusiastic, I'll admit," Brynjolf shrugged. "Usually the younger ones are in the beginning."

"Where did you find her?"

"R'aija just came to Skyrim with one of the caravans, wanted to see the world. Skyrim seemed to agree with her, so she stayed. I caught her trying to pull my purse off."

"So not a very good pickpocket, then?"

"Can you blame her for that failure?" Brynjolf shook his head in defense of the cub.

"I am being bitter, aren't I?" she hummed. "Don't mind me, I'm just feeling nostalgic. Is she always this protective of you, though?"

"She's been following me around like a lost kitten, to be honest. Kind of the way you did when I recruited you."

"I did no such thing. Besides, that was a long time ago."

"Three years is not that long, lass."

"Enough that things have changed."

"You looked so scared when you came to Riften for the first time that Maul actually felt sorry for you." Brynjolf grinned. "When I first saw you, you were just a slip of a girl, not even daring to cross the market circle."

"Yes, and now I'm a big, bad wolf that will eat your children," Léta snapped. "It's a nice little trip down the memory lane, Bryn, but don't we have a job to do?"

"You were also much warmer back then." He sighed.

"And you were much less sentimental." She got out a coin, and began to twist it around her fingers. "We were all young once, Brynjolf. Like your new cub."

"Come, now, Léta, cheer up a bit. Did you miss me so little that you tear at my throat the first chance you get?"

She couldn't hold a smile at that. "It's not that I didn't miss you. I just had a horrible month. Scratch that, the entire year somehow went crooked."

A moment later, Brynjolf suddenly asked "You're not going to tell me what happened in the Brotherhood, are you?"

"Delvin didn't tell you?"

"He keeps his mouth uncharacteristically closed."

"Good for him."

He sighed. "Something must have happened. You were never so unbearable before. You used to trust me."

She evasively said, "I used to trust a lot of people." Then, after a moment she let out a breath. "It's a messy story, Bryn. You don't want to hear it as much as I don't want to tell it, believe me. Let's just focus on our current task, alright?"

"It will take us the entire day to get to Windhelm at this pace- we have time to chat, for once. It's unfortunate that you don't seem to be as inclined to talk as you were before."

"I'm not that quiet," she protested. "I just don't like small-talk."

"Uh-huh. A few years ago you could have chattered until your tongue went numb, and then some. Like the time you hung onto Mercer for the entire day, talking about the most- ah, see, now I've upset you." He looked at her meaningfully, as though he had fully expected that turn of events.

"I'm not upset," she snapped, suddenly feeling tempted to just send the horse forward and leave the man behind.

"Yes, you are- you get that little wrinkle between your eyebrows anytime someone mentions Mercer." He stretched and arm between their horses, and tapped a patronizing finger on her forehead.

She automatically swatted his hand away. "You're imagining things."

The rare birch forests passed on either side as they traveled parallel to the eastern mountain range. The sun was pale and brought little warmth, though it was still only autumn here. The north was already covered with a deep layer of snow, and even the Nords were beginning to feel the cold. But in the Rift, the fall lasted longer, and the climate was closer to Cyrodiil than any other part of this road itself was quiet- traveling was becoming increasingly dangerous with the war and the dragons flying about, so everyone preferred to stay put. Bandits and highway men usually preyed on more crowded roads that this one, so they encountered no problems along the road so far.

"This doesn't look good," Brynjolf broke the silence eventually, when they have already been riding for a few hours. Léta looked up ahead, at where the settlement of Shor's Stone was coming up. "What the hell…?"

There was a barricade erected along the road, blocking passage to the village itself. Five Stormcloak soldiers were keeping guard on this side of it, some walking back and forth on a meaningless patrol, some just sitting playing cards on a crate. One was sitting away from them, sharpening his sword.

"Their camp is leagues away. What are they doing here?" the woman wondered out loud.

"Look, lass. Up there."

She followed his gesture to the yellow rag that was hung on the pole up above the wall. "An outbreak? Here? How could we not have heard in Riften?"

"Maybe we shouldn't stay to find out. Those boys look like they're bored enough to give us trouble."

"Too late. They noticed us," Léta muttered with disappointment. One of the men saw them when he glanced up the road, and waved down the others. All of them were looking at them expectantly, and they had no choice but to move towards them.

"Names?" One of them asked in a bored tone. "Destination?"

"We're just traveling to Windhelm. What's going on?" Brynjolf asked.

The man shrugged. "Outbreak of some disease or other."

"You don't know?" Léta furrowed her eyebrows. "What's happening?"

"Spots, coughs and fevers, is what's happening," another one grumbled. They seemed talkative enough, the boredom showing. "Must be serious. They sent for a mage from the college, he only just arrived today."

That was surprising. Nords by themselves were wary of mages, and under Ulfric, it was rare that they would ask one for help. They considered it beneath them to ask anyone not of their own race or ability for assistance.

"Load of good that did. He can't even cure the ones already afflicted." The voice that came from the third helmet was female.

"How many dead?" Brynjolf's voice took a businesslike turn.

"Five, and half of the rest are infected. Here, I'll fetch the wizard, he wants to talk to any travelers that come near the settlement."

One of them detached from the group and headed around the barricades into the village. Léta opened her mouth to call him back, but received a sharp glare from Brynjolf.

"He'll just make sure you walk away without any of it on you, ma'am," the female noticed her discomfort. "You'll be escorted around the village then, and you can be off on your way."

The traces of panic didn't leave the woman's face. Pulling up her hood would have looked suspicious now, and she felt the desperate desire to send the borrowed horse into a gallop somewhere away from the College mage.

But to her luck, the man was unfamiliar. He was a young Nord with short blond hair and hazel eyes, with a Journeyman's robes of the faculty of Restoration magics. Not anyone she could have easily crossed paths with in the school, even if they did happen to attend at the same time. He was also wearing thick gloves and a mask that he peeled off as soon he came outside of the wooden walls.

"Travelers?" he asked in a bored tone.

"Uh-huh. Heading to Windhelm."

"Good on you." He shrugged. He was looking them over with disregard, though his eyes did stop on Léta's face for a moment before moving on. "Jerret Blue-Fingers, College representative and supervisor, at your service."

"Windal Cold-Wind," Brynjolf lied smoothly.

"And your… companion? Wife?"

"Idris," she smiled sweetly, her face transforming into the image of a young, naïve little bride. "Formerly Indentry." She gave Brynjolf a false, overly-sweet look of adoration that made him choke on laughter. He quickly recovered with a cough.

"Right," the mage yawned, and picked up a notebook from the crates the guards were using for card games. "Strange pair, you are, traveling alone by this road. Not afraid of dragons, are you?"

"Of course we are!" Léta made huge eyes at him. "I'm simply terrified, and Windal is too, but he doesn't show it! But we have to get to Windhelm- Riften is so dirty and full of bandits, and thieves, and thugs, and rats! Oh, if only my poor father was still alive, he would have never let me spend one day in that horrible place! But my husband, he promised me that we can-"

"Alright, that's all that I needed to hear," the man hurried to cut her off. "Now, one second…" He moved closer to them, his hands raised. A blue glow enveloped them, "This will just make sure you're not infected, and should prevent infection for the next two days."

She knew what the spell was, though she couldn't use it herself. She stayed still as Jerret cast it on them, and the horses. After which he yawned again, put the mask back on, and walked away without another word.

"Let's go, I'll bring you around village," the female soldier waved them after her, and they followed her down the small trail that went east of the road. "You're right in getting away from Riften, you know. If someone set to weed out the rabble in that city, there would be mass executions everyday for the next two years."

Léta exchanged conspiratorial glances with Brynjolf. "Oh, yes, dangerous place. There was blood instead of water and disease-ridden corpses instead of cobble." The sudden change of tone from innocent and naïve to sarcastic and dry made the soldier look back at her in surprise. "We'll find our own way around, if you don't mind…"

The Stormcloak hesitantly nodded, and took a step off the trail, letting them pass through, before heading back the way she came from.

A few minutes later, when they were clear of the village, Brynjolf finally stopped repressing laughter.

"Which one of us should be selling rat droppings remains to be seen," she dead-panned, and then joined in his laughter.

The disease-ridden settlement was quickly brushed to the side. What did it really matter to them? If Maven had any bids in the place (which she probably did) she already knew of the outbreak. It was out of their hands, so the rest of the trip was made in a much easier atmosphere.


	6. Beware the Butcher!

Beware the Butcher!

Brynjolf and Léta have been in the business of crime for a very long time. Him a lot longer than her, but she didn't raise in ranks quickly for nothing. And there were two things they agreed on without question: that they had to get inside the city and leave completely unnoticed and that one way or another, the Summerset Shadows had to be dealt with before they could regroup. And dealt with _permanently_.

The best way to spin that for them would be to take them by surprise, for which they had to be discrete. They were taking a risk going as a pair, but the grouping did raise their chances of survival. They weren't naïve enough to believe that the Summerset Shadows were entirely useless, and one slip up could mean serious consequences.

Before they reached Windhelm, they got off their horses, leaving them near one of the farms. The sun had set an hour ago, and if all went well, they would be finished before dawn, and no one would notice them.

Next they 'borrowed' one of the tiny boats that the residents of that farm used to transport goods to the docks, and without lighting a lantern, made their way across the river. Swimming in the icy northern water was not an attractive prospect even for Argonians, who were in no less danger of freezing into original ice sculptures.

Léta never did get used to the cold of Skyrim. Small shivers ran through her body, and she kept her teeth clenched to prevent audible chattering. It was only the side-effect of inaction, though. A bit more paddling, and she'd warm up again. But it wasn't just the cold that was bothering her.

"You alright?" Brynjolf asked when they were halfway to the docks, noticing her fidgeting.

Léta looked sourly at the surface of the water, and then returned to staring at the distance. "Don't like water."

"Since-?"

"Yes." Brynjolf made a surprised huff, and let the subject drop. She would swim if her survival depended on it, but she didn't have to enjoy it. The next fifteen minutes were spent in silence. She didn't mind that- preferred it, really. People didn't ask questions or expect answers when they didn't talk.

It was safer to enter the city through the side gates that lead to the Gray Quarter- not as many witnesses, virtually no guards. The Dark Elves preferred to stay inside during the nights, just in case. It was no secret, or even an empty rumor that the Nords in Windhelm were particularly suspicious towards other races, and some took it to bitter extremes. If it ended with empty talk, there was no trouble. But sometimes one or two of the drunkards got a bit brave and righteous, and people got hurt. It was when looking at the tiny narrow streets of the slums that Léta favored the Empire over the Stormcloaks, though thieves and assassins, as a rule, preferred to stay neutral.

Their target was not in the Gray Quarters, though. Torsten's house was on the other side of the city. Two shadows traveled through the streets, keeping away from the guards and stray citizens. It wouldn't do to get noticed in their gear, and there were questions that they didn't have the time to answer. The roofs were a plausible pathway, too, though Léta still remembered when she slipped on the ice and took a long and nasty fall that broke her arm, put her in a bad position with the guards, and out of the game for a month. Traveling by streets was slower and more open, but safer.

Surprisingly, the city was dead quiet tonight. In the entire trip, they passed only two guard patrols, one drunkard that was swaggering home, and a courier getting rid of his last deliveries. The emptiness was almost unnatural.

"It's quiet," she commented very quietly when they were crossing over the cemetery. "Where is everyone? It's only been a few hours since dusk."

"There was trouble here, a few women got butchered," Brynjolf indulged. "Pretty brutal, I hear. Most will be keeping to their houses after dark."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?

"Clear streets are in our favor, lass. Why, is something-"

Léta suddenly stopped, Brynjolf turned his head to her and made a questioning gesture with his hand.

She looked back to the passage they came through, on the other end of which the windows in the Candlehearth Inn windows were lit. The priestess that took care of the dead was usually diligent enough to keep the lamps and candles lit, but tonight it was surprisingly dark here. And for once, the darkness didn't bring the comforting shelter. It felt as cold as the dead under their feet, and as deadly silent as the arc of a blade.

Something was off. Léta got the feeling that everyone was right to stay inside.

Brynjolf must have felt that unease as well, because he was suddenly tense, his hand resting on the dagger at his belt. They didn't speak a word, just looked at each other from underneath their hoods, nodded, and split up. He quickly ran between the tombstones and pressed himself into the opposite wall. If thieves expected trouble, they ran in different directions and hid separately.

Léta remained on her edge, a black shade against the wall. It was a clear and dark night, and only the tiny edges of the Masser were visible, Secunda hiding somewhere behind it. Gray clouds were advancing from the west, and it would likely snow in an hour, and by morning, citizens would be once again knee-deep in snow, despite the autumn time of the year. There shouldn't have been anything strange about this night.

The strange weight in her stomach just wouldn't stop dropping. It felt as though any second the ground would begin to vibrate, and rotting hands would reach from the ground, though Léta knew it was impossible- city builders were not idiots, and if they buried their dead inside the walls, they took precautions. Usually in the form of heavy stone slabs placed over the coffins, or, if resources were scarce, just a few bars. Mages sometimes earned good coin in making sure the dead would stay in the ground, and amulets that turned undead were either buried or placed on those offering altars... Unfortunately (or fortunately, considering her profession), those did nothing against murderers and other threats, like rabid animals.

_Now?_ It was only a few paces to the rich districts. There was definitely light there.

No, just a bit more. Light had never meant safety to her; shadow was her friend and partner, the one that hid her from danger, the one that saved her skin more diligently than any of her brothers.

Danger? It was nothing more than a shift in the wind. She was just paranoid. Whoever it is, it can't be that much of a problem. There were two of them, and both were dangerous enough to survive.

Would they? If this threat came from behind, could she save her back? Or his?

Just a bit more.

Brynjolf was invisible. The master didn't flinch even a muscle, blending in with the thick darkness on his end. There wasn't ever a wisp of white breath that could have given him away.

Something was close. Léta could almost imagine the soft crunching of the snow under someone's prowling footsteps, though the graveyard remained empty to her gaze.

Léta, following an impulse, started sliding down the wall. The feeling of eyes on her was almost unbearable.

And then, just like that, the weight dropped and shattered. Léta took a breath, and shut her eyes in relief for a moment. Brynjolf touched on the wall beside her the next second, making her jump, and motioned to keep moving. She was more than happy to oblige.

"What was that?" She asked very quietly.

"I don't know and I don't want to stay long enough to find out," he breathed in return.

Despite her habits, the brightly lit mansion street was a welcome sight. They didn't need to go far- the Cruel-Sea family house was located close to the Hall of the Dead, separated from the tombstones by a thick stone wall that rose above the roof.

"So, window or front door?" Léta looked over the house with a professional eye.

"He's expecting us. We could just knock." Brynjolf reminded her, opening the unlocked gate in demonstration.

"I don't think I've knocked on a door in three years," she hummed, letting out a slightly hysterical giggle, her nerves still acting up a little. "Except once- I hit the man on the nose with it as soon as he unlocked it. He didn't live long enough to protest, though."

"You're forgetting- this is a client, not a target. We want to make a good, civil impression."

"Oh, so we're _trustworthy _criminals tonight. Well, by all means." The words were quiet so that if there was an unnoticed guard trying to make his career around the corner, he wouldn't take the bait.

Brynjolf didn't really knock on the door- he just pushed the door open and walked in. Léta stayed behind for a moment, her eyes searching both of the streets for any menacing shadows. When her paranoia was satisfied with the emptiness of the streets, she followed her partner into the house.

The house was warm and smelled of food, dust, and mourning. It was also surprisingly dark- only one candle and the fireplace was burning. There were no flowers, no bright colors in the room, and on the first glance, it was empty. Though soon she saw that in front of the kitchen fire, a man was sitting. He was turned away from the door, his back hunched and unmoving.

"Torsten?" Brynjolf asked when he came closer. The man jumped.

"Huh? Oh- you, er-"

"Delvin said you needed something to get done," the thief, without waiting for permission, lowered himself into the second chair. Léta came to stand behind him, her eyes carefully looking over the client.

He was an older Nord with graying hair and thick lines on the face. Grief and resolve was written in the furrowed eyebrows and redshot eyes, a stubborn curve of the mouth- everything expected of a grieving father out for revenge. A lot of her clients were like this- bitter, lost, and willing to pay big money to return something, or to remove someone from existence.

He caught her stare, and looked back to Brynjolf.

"I didn't expect there to be two of you."

"Ingrid is my partner," Names were slippery business. They couldn't harm someone like her, who spent her life on the move across the edge anyway, but certain complications could come up, even if one has only a name. "Now, if you would just like to fill us in?"

The man nodded, and looked back into the fire. He started speaking immediately, as though he had already gone over the words a million times in his head. "My daughter, Fjotli was… killed for her valuables recently. The girl always wore too much jewelry in public…" his forehead bunched in pain.

"Our condolences," Léta offered in monotone. The home did have a dull, funeral feel to it- no bright colors aside from the fire, all vases contained simple white winter composition, and the overall atmosphere was that of grief.

"It wasn't one of ours, I'm sure of that," Brynjolf didn't look at Léta as he said that, but a cold mouse ran up her spine for _that _statement.

"I know your guild's ways, don't worry. I suspect it was those Summerset Shadows, the cutthroats that call themselves thieves." There was anger in Torsten's voice now, and his hands clenched on his thighs. "All for a bunch of trinkets… Look, I don't care much for most of what they took, but among it a silver locket with the Cruel-Sea mark."

"So you want it back," Léta stated, and he nodded.

"Do you know where we can find them?"

"No. But that rat, Niranye, she's one of them, I know it. You'll probably find her in her house, or running her stall at the market place."

"Niranye?" Brynjolf scratched his chin. "I know her. She used to be a fence for us before our little fall from grace. Peaceful enough lass. Hard to think of her as a cutthroat."

"People change," Léta shrugged. "Let's go. Hopefully we will have a location by morning."

Brynjolf nodded, and stood up. Torsten didn't even watch them leave, just continued to stare into the fire.

The chill hit Léta on the face when they were outside again, and she shivered. The fire was warm, the smell of food and candles was welcoming. Out here, it felt like the cold was trying to claw its way to her bones.

"This was a bad idea," she breathed quietly to herself. Brynjolf heard, though, and looked at her from underneath his hood with surprise.

"What?"

"Nothing," she got a move on. After a minute, though, she suddenly felt it was necessary to add "I didn't kill Fjotli."

"I never said you did."

"You thought it, back there."

He turned his head towards her, and sighed without disagreeing, which only confirmed her suspicions. The professional silence returned between them soon after.

Niranye, by Brynjolf's words, lived exactly where they had just come from- across town, under the southeastern wall. This time, they decided to shortcut through the palace courtyard despite the risk of detection. Whatever was hunting in the cemetery was none of their business, and they wordlessly agreed that guards in plain sight were a better than a predator in the shadows.

"Spare a coin?" Silda whispered to them when they passed her scrap of the wall, right before the palace. She was huddled in a cloak that looked surprisingly new, looking at the pair with knowing eyes.

Léta gave her five gold coins without hesitation. The beggar grinned widely when she wrapped the money into a cloth and hid it away in the snow, and then scrambled away from them, and into the firelight of the braziers in the courtyard.

They waited.

"You again?" The tired, frustrated voice of one of the guards sounded. "I thought we warned you to find another place to sleep!"

"But sir, it's warmer here, less wind!"

"This isn't an alms house- Hey, you little-! That's my purse!"

"What purse? I ain't seen no purse!"

"Get back here!"

"That's our cue," Brynjolf took a quick look around the grounds, and nodded in satisfaction.

Beggars have always been considered one of the most useful resources to any thief. Just a few coins, and they will give a minute-by-minute breakdown of a dock worker's child's schedule. But the best part was that the authorities have never managed to catch on to that simple wisdom, giving the underground a major advantage... hm, hard to imagine what would happen if the guards ever realized that...

* * *

><p>Niranye was in a bad mood, that much was obvious. She walked inside her house and slammed the door behind her. Not bothering to light any candles, she walked up the stairs in the dark, and then nearly collapsed into her bed with a small groan.<p>

"Tough night?" Léta wondered from her spot on the desk.

The voice in the dark made the Altmer jump up in alarm. She grabbed for the dagger on her table, only for her fingers to scratch the surface.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"Niranye, it's nice to see you well." Brynjolf softly stepped in front of the door.

"Wha- wait, I know you. Brynjolf? Is that you?"

"The very same. Relax. Now, what do you know about the jewelry that was taken off of Fjotli Cruel-Sea?"

The woman didn't even think about relaxing. When she began speaking, her voice was more angry and surprised than it was afraid. "The girl that was murdered? You broke into my house to ask me about her? Look, it's a shame for the poor thing, but I really don't know what you want from me-"

"Horrible acting on your part," Léta interrupted her. "Look, you tell us what happened to her, and where her jewelry went, and I won't have to hurt you. Everybody wins, no?"

Niranye began fidgeting nervously. "If I tell you anything, _they_ will hurt me. They're not sane, you know. Thinking themselves thieves, bragging about things that they steal off corpses…"

"Did they kill the girl?" Brynjolf asked.

Niranye shook her head in the darkness. "No, no, that was someone else. They don't kill anyone, just pick them off like vultures."

"Someone else has been going around murdering people?" Léta asked out of curiosity. Niranye was getting chatty, and it was in everyone's best interest to take advantage of that.

"Yes, they call him the Butcher, because of what he does to those girls. And another was found just twenty minutes ago in the cemetery!"

Léta and Brynjolf exchanged meaningful glances.

"But these Summerset Shadows," Léta steered the topic back into place. Niranye flinched as though she wasn't expecting them to know the name. "What do they have to do with you?"

"They approached me one day and said if I didn't fence for them, they'd kill me. I had no choice, even though their merchandise is even riskier than what I usually get."

"Have you, by any chance sold a silver Cruel-Sea locket?"

"No, no. Look, it has the Cruel-Sea crest on it. They are pressuring me to get a buyer, say it's too hot to hold onto, but-"

"Where can we find them?"

The Altmer sighed heavily, finally deciding that it really was for the best to go all the way. "Only on the promise that you will kill every single one of them."

"We intend to. They did some damage that needs to be repaired quickly." Léta shrugged.

"Uttering Hills cave. It's to the west on the southern side of the river. You should find a passage just after you pass the lumber mill there."

"Perfect," Léta got to her feet, and walked towards Brynjolf and the doorway.

"If you do manage to get rid of all of them," Niranye suddenly called to them. "I heard the Thieves Guild is back on its feet. If you're ever in the area, I can sell any hot merchandise you have. At least with you I never worried about getting my throat opened…"

"We'll keep that in mind. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Thorm sighed under his helmet. It just wasn't his night. First the beggar stole his purse, leading him on a merry chase through the street, before abandoning that same purse in the snow on the steps to the cemetery for him to pick up. Now there was yet another woman butchered, and that has gathered quite a bit of attention from the townsfolk that appeared out of thin air as soon as he called the alarm and summoned the Priestess of Arkay.<p>

Then, as you would have it, two shady men show up and start poking at her in their so-called "investigation".

"Who was she?"One of the men, his face hidden by a hood and scarf, asked him. He was shorter than his companion, and his voice was hoarser, but aside from that, Thorm couldn't even figure out which race he belonged to.

"Susanna, she was a waitress at the Candlehearth Inn. Look, maybe you should just leave the-"

"Well, looks like your lead got us somewhere." The man called to the other, no longer listening. "Poor woman. Looks like the work of a psychopath, doesn't it?"

"It's not her work," the taller man, who was still examining the body, replied with obvious disappointment. "Too sloppy, too focused on the mutilation. Plus her purse and necklace are still on her."

"So?"

"She is cold-blooded and precise. She would have done it quickly and quietly, hid the body and then taken the valuables."

"Maybe she's trying to lead us off her trail. Distract us, make us think she had nothing to do with it. Don't you think it's a bit strange that the night she comes to Windhelm, there's a murder?"

"Exactly. She's smarter than that. This is the work of a sadistic amateur, no more."

The shorter man growled. "Less admiration for the killer, partner."

The taller one picked up a bit of snow, washing the blood off his hands. Thorm was listening with curiosity, and they seemed to have forgotten he was still there. He was also getting more and more angry- the men had no concern for the murdered girl, only that she wasn't killed by the right person. Though if what they said was true, there was another murderer in Windhelm.

It was all Aretino's fault, he decided for himself. He was the one that performed that disgusting ritual, and now there were killers on every corner. They really didn't pay the guards enough to keep this at bay, especially not with the war on…

"You read the same file I did."

"Except I didn't obsess over it, unlike you."

The taller man got up, pulling on his gloves and beginning to walk away. "I'm not obsessed. Someone of her caliber will take more than guesswork and blind darts to catch. I only want to bring her to justice."

"That's not all you want to do," the shorter man muttered with irritation, turning back to the guard. "Thank you for your cooperation."

"But- what about the-"

"Good luck to you," he interrupted the question, and went to catch up with his partner.

Thorm stared at their back, and then spat at the ground at his feet. "What a waste of time. Helgrid, we can take her away now. I don't think there is anything more to be done here."

"Wait a moment," someone else suddenly spoke, and the guard nearly groaned. He turned around, but it weren't the two men coming back, but a massive, armored Nord that was looking at the corpse with sadness. "Maybe I can help…?"

* * *

><p>The two thieves made it out of Windhelm before sunrise, as they had planned. Their horses were still in the same place, luckily, so as soon crossed they river back to the shore, they wasted no time in setting off west along the coast, making a hook out of sight of the stables, just in case.<p>

The snow had stopped falling somewhere in the middle of the night, and was now laying peacefully undisturbed along their path. They could do nothing about the tracks, but neither cared too much about that. In the pre-dawn hours, everything but the stiff flow of the river was silent and dark.

"Do you hear that?" Brynjolf asked suddenly, just as they were passing the mill on the other side of the water.

"What?" Léta perked up, twisting her head around.

"That sound. Like an echo," he pulled the reigns, making his mare stop. Léta followed his example.

"It's probably nothing. There's a lot of echo in these parts. Mountains and all," she shrugged. "Or it could be a dragon. Either way, let's keep moving."

He nodded, though he was still tense. Léta sighed, and jumped off her horse. "I'll go scout the area. You stay here and watch for dragons. Scream if they start eating you."

"You're hilarious," he took the offered reigns, and watched her fold two fingers into her mouth and let out a loud whistle. "Whatever happened to discretion?"

She didn't dignify that with an answer, looking around instead. Two minutes later, there was the fast sound of hooves, and her demonic horse burst from somewhere around the bend. She slowed down near them, and gently nudged Léta's shoulder in recognition.

Léta greeted Shadowmere with a friendly pat on the neck, and went immediately to the saddle, where she had left her bag from before, when she was just trying to get into the Nightingale Hall as quickly as possible. Aside from the bag that contained most of her usual supplies (food, water, potions, a few papers and warm clothing), there was an ebony bow strapped to the saddle. It was not the best weapon, unlike the one she returned to Karliah right after she came back from the Sepulcher, but it could get the job done. She also took out a bundle of steel arrows from her bag.

"I hope your archery skills are better than what they used to be." Brynjolf commented, and she smiled with the corner of her mouth.

"I picked up a few tricks in the last year," she reassured him as she strung the bow, though he doubted it. The girl was talented in almost all areas of thieving and sneaking, but her archery and blade skills always left much to be desired. There was a reason she never took direct combat- either one hit death, _or "goodbye all, thanks for playing, this time tomorrow_". "I won't do anything exciting without you, I promise."

* * *

><p>Léta let out a small, silent laugh to herself. Brynjolf didn't know half the things she learned while since joining the Brotherhood…<p>

…hold breath, and fluid release…

The arrow missed the throat when the elf took a step away from it at the last second, and punctured his back between the shoulder blades. She missed the heart that way, too, but it toppled him over. There was a shriek of shock, then a shout of concern, and then everything went quiet.

She got another arrow without drawing, and carefully made her way down from the overhang. She relaxed as soon as she saw Brynjolf wiping his knife on the dead man's sleeve.

"You missed." He glanced at the corpse lying at the camp. The Altmer was still twitching, his fingers clenching on snow.

"It happens," she shrugged, not very crushed over the fact because he was still visibly impressed. Last time he saw her shoot an arrow, it made an awkward twirl in the air, bounced off the target and hit Cynric on the head. He wasn't too upset with her (too busy laughing) but she, embarrassed and frustrated, shoved the bow into Niruin's hands (who was at least trying to conceal a grin), and declared that she would rather sneak up and stab the arrow straight through their backs instead, and they could shove their archery where the sun didn't shine. "The arrow was poisoned. He'll be dead in about three more seconds."

The elf stopped twitching. Léta picked up the key from the one Brynjolf finished, and unlocked the door to the cave. The mechanism was half frozen, and didn't give easily. Her fingers were beginning to numb even with her gloves, but eventually it clicked and turned.

"We don't know how many of them are in there," Brynjolf told her when she got ready to get the door open. "Keep to the shadows."

She looked at him blankly. "Leave the lessons for R'aija, Bryn. I know what I'm doing."

"Well, we can have this promising conversation about your arrogance now, or we can got rid the world of these cutthroats that dare call themselves thieves."

"Well, you know me, always trying to make Tamriel a better place for all," she muttered dryly, finally wrenching the door open. Very carefully, though, ready to freeze at the slightest tension of a trap.

Cave. An ice cave, to be more precise. Blindingly white from all sides, only a tiny island of gray where a table was standing. Less than ideal location for a hideout, to say it loosely. The Summerset Shadows were like common bandits, just taking the first abandoned hole they could find. And while Léta was never very fond of the Ratways perfumes and the Sanctuary's chill, it was still preferable to this.

"It's probably connected to the buried ruins nearby," Bryn whispered close to her ear to avoid the echo.

"Good," she breathed under her mask. She put away the bow, too- she wasn't going to risk missing again so close to the group. The Blade of Woe fell into her hand instead.

The ground under their feet was icy, but not slippery. The packed snow provided a texture to walk on. They worked their way through the tunnel, carefully, and trying their hardest to avoid making noise. The echo that their light footsteps created was unavoidable, but it blended into the loud wind that travelled the hall, so the first pair they took by surprise. They were patrolling the two parallel paths down, coming together at one point. As soon as they turned around and made a few steps, the intruders swept up behind them in an almost routine gesture.

One hand over the mouth, the other wrenching a blade through the throat. Fast, simple, and quiet. Until the body drops down, that is- the woman didn't even bother trying to soften its fall. Brynjolf looked at her, questioningly pointing to the passages. She pointed to the right. He nodded in agreement, and moved in the direction she supplied.

The next patrol was sitting by a fire, though it didn't look like it was doing them much good.

"I hate this duty." One of them grumbled. Léta pressed her back to the frozen wall, though she barely felt it through her armor. Brynjolf was two steps behind her, allowing her to take the lead for the moment. "I'm freezing my ass off here."

"Go cry to Nimwe, then," the other one sneered.

"Don't tell me you aren't cold."

"Patrol is patrol. Boss is pissed we messed up the job, so we get to sit out here while they're in there. Now stop moaning."

"It was a stupid job anyway." The first one grumbled, rubbing his hands together and moving even closer to the fire. "We didn't get even one of them. They're too good."

"Horseshit. They got lucky, is all. Next time I see that white-haired bitch, I'll-"

"You'll do what? They won't let us within a hundred yards next time," the elf snorted. "I say it's time to abandon ship. Either Nimwe lets us freeze out here, or they will come looking for revenge."

"Don't let him hear you say that, or he will murder you on the spot."

"Pfft. Come on Marcon, admit it. This job is pathetic. You're all kissing his ass, claiming to be master thieves, but what was the last thing you stole?"

"Would you shut up?"

"No, come on, say it! You snuck into the Hall of the Dead just to get a silver ring off a corpse!" There was evident disgust in his voice.

Marcon's mouth opened, and his face twisted with fury, but he didn't seem to find anything to respond with. So instead, he jumped up, grabbing at his dagger.

A moment later, Léta released her hold on the string, and the arrow lodged itself in the elf's throat. His hand flew up and tried to grab the shaft, but he was dead before his fingers even grazed it.

She put another arrow in, but suddenly noticed that the remaining elf didn't even bother getting up- instead, he looked relieved.

"Finally," he said. "I've been stalling him for a while now, what took you so long?"

"You knew we were here?" She asked, motioning to Brynjolf with her shoulder to stay in place for a moment.

"What a beautiful voice. Come out from hiding, I heard you when you killed the idiots patrolling upstairs."

She carefully stepped from around the corner, the arrow still fixed on him. The mer didn't seem to be too put out by that.

"Never liked any of them anyway," he shrugged. "So, am I dying today, or do I get another day? If it helps, there are five of them in the ruins through that door. You'll find Nimwe in the dining room, it's just through the hall."

"Just five?" She narrowed her eyes.

"Not including myself and the five you've already taken care of," he smiled charmingly, but you don't play a player. Under her stern gaze, he shrugged and explained. "Some are out trying to salvage the situation we screwed up. There weren't many to begin with."

"The locket you stole off of Fjotli Cruel-Sea. Where is it?"

"Nimwe stole that one, and he's probably keeping it in his room with the rest of his loot. You'll find it there."

She nodded. "Get out of here. I see your face ever again, I'm putting a blade through it. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," he grinned, and picked up the bag that was lying next to his chair, and an apple from one of the barrels. Then, humming a little song that echoed off of the icy walls, he headed up the tunnel.

"You let him go?" Brynjolf wondered when she relaxed her stance.

"Out of this entire bunch, he was the only one with any sense," she shrugged. "Let him have at it, I don't think he'll try anything by himself."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then he'll be dead within a month. Let's keep moving."

* * *

><p>Voar didn't get very far with the "investigation". Looking at the body just made him feel sick, disturbed, and angry that someone would do this to a woman. He wasn't sure who to question, or where to find them; this was his first time in the city. The trail of blood ended on the snow in front of one of the mansions, but he didn't know how to get in. So he just sat down on the bench next to the inn, and started thinking.<p>

His thoughts didn't leave Léta- was she the one to do this? Then he got here too late, and he couldn't stop the murderer. If he had moved faster, maybe…

The fact that the two criminals were heading to Windhelm was easy enough to figure out while he was following them. When he was stopped at Shor's Stone, he discretely looked at the notes that the mage kept while everyone was distracted by a civilian trying to sneak out. There was only one entry with a Nordic and an Imperial name, listed as husband and wife. It was a solid bet that they were paranoid enough to use false names.

And yet, he was still behind them for at least an hour. And when he arrived here, there was running, commotion, and the guards stood rigid patrols, which was very unlike them at this hour.

"Sir?" someone interrupted his train of thought. He looked up to find a woman dressed in rags, but with a warm cloak around her.

"What is it?"

"You're searching for the Butcher, right?"

"Do you know something?" he perked up.

"I heard the screaming, but when I got there, she was already dead. I was so surprised I dropped the pur- I mean, I just ran."

"A purse? You're a pickpocket?" Voar furrowed his eyebrows.

"No, no, sir, I'm an honest beggar." She backtracked. "I don't have much, I'm just trying to survive…"

Sympathy flooded him. He realized what she was hinting at, though, and despite his thoughts on bribes and informants, he gave her a few coins.

"So at the scene, did you see the killer? A woman, perhaps?"

"There was a woman tonight," she nodded, and stared at her hopefully. Then that hope fell when he realized that the girl he was hoping to catch managed to get away with the murder of the Emperor. There was no way he'd be able to put her behind bars for this. "She was with a man. They were sneaking around- paid me to distract the guard so they could go east." She waved her hand. "But I heard the screaming later. I didn't see the killer, it was very dark in the cemetery."

He had noticed that- while the guard was trying to figure out what to do with the body, the priestess was relighting the candles with irritated grumbling. What the beggar told him complicated things, though. The "Butcher" was once again a mystery. But at least Léta and her partner behaved. He heard of no other murders in the city, so perhaps they were there for something different.

Another dead end. Almost ironic, he suddenly thought. No doubt if the Thieves Guild wanted to investigate the murder, they'd have the killer within an hour. He didn't know much about them aside from the things that any self-respecting Guild needed: resources and an information network. And they likely had both, as well as fast fingers and silver tongues. They would waste no time getting into the locked house...

"What's your name?" he asked the beggar.

"Silda the Unseen, sir."

"Can you do something for me, Silda? Just keep an eye out for this Butcher. I don't know where to look, but I have a feeling you do."

She smiled. "I'm scared too. He kills only women, and I don't have walls around me. I will help you."

"I'll pay you for anything you can get me. I'll… talk to a few sources as well." They could still know something. They didn't seem too inclined to talk to him, and like hell they'd want to help him, but he really wasn't sure where else to go. He didn't even think about giving the investigation up because of the setback- if he didn't find the Butcher, who knows how many more women he'd kill before someone finally caught it...

"Last question for you, Silda. Do you know where the woman and the man went?"

"East, to the Gray Quarters. They probably left the city now. I don't know anything else."

Left out the gates, likely. Smart, it was less guarded than the main gate. But where did they go from there…?

* * *

><p>The plan hitched right when it was going smoothly. Léta managed to sneak up snap the neck of the elf that was patrolling the lower level of the fortress without him noticing her. Everything remained silent except for the sounds of talking from somewhere deeper inside the fort.<p>

And everything would have _stayed _quiet, had the damn corpse not fallen onto the corner of the alchemy station, thudded, and completely sunk to the floor. The next second, there was the shattering of a potion bottle that seemed ear-splitting in the echoing halls. The talk downstairs paused, and the next tones were much more alarmed.

The two thieves shared a disgruntled look, and took out their blades, taking cover on either side of the door frame.

Footsteps. Two men were approaching their position. They didn't see the body yet because of the steep angle of the stairs. Léta quickly checked to make sure the emergency vials were still in their usual place, because it was obvious that they weren't getting out without a fight. And as far as her strategies went, they all came down to the same bottom line- she either fought dirty, or died.

"What the he-" the first Shadow to make it through the doorway chocked when her knife stabbed twice quickly through his side and throat. She then shoved the dropping body onto his partner, causing a moment of confusion before her weapon found his eye. She drove it in deep into his skull, and then kicked him off. The corpses tumbled down the stairs.

Brynjolf didn't even have to move- she took both out in fast succession.

The three that had stayed behind didn't waste time, now, and they approached smarter than their friends. Two of them had bows, so Léta hurried in returning to cover.

"Now what?" Brynjolf asked her as two arrows whistled past.

"I can take them," she said with confidence, but he just stared at her as though she had announced the plan to be "bring in the ponies".

"The hell you can! I'm not dragging your carcass out of here."

"You know," she ground out when she risked a glance over the corner, and had to retreat as another pair of arrows was released. "It really wouldn't hurt-" she reached into one of her pockets, taking out a small pellet. "-for your to trust me every once in a while."

She whispered an incantation, making her hands flare with fire. The next moment, she threw the flaming ball down the stairs towards their enemies.

There was a quiet explosion, and smoke burst out, hitting the narrow corridor and angrily spreading out, seeking more room.

"Now!"

Brynjolf didn't hesitate this time, but jumped all the steps, landing quietly. He didn't charge into the thick, blinding smoke though. She, on the other hand, did. Orienteering herself on the frantic coughing and movement, she flew right past the three elves without truly seeing them, and ended up on the other side of the hallway, flanking them.

And came face to face with Linwe, who looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

The confusion didn't last longer than a fraction of a second. He raised his blade, and so did she. At the back of her head, she make a quiet correction to the previous plan of action- it was naïve to believe that Linwe himself was doing anything other than throwing orders from the back.

"You!"

"Me," she agreed with Linwe, sidestepping his blade. Behind her, she heard Brynjolf engage with the two remaining elves.

"I am going to carve that face into ribbons," her opponent snarled at her angrily. Have they met? Or was he one of the men she led on a chase through half of Skryim? It didn't matter, she remained completely calm, her steps and movement carefully calculated.

"Your men are dead," she told him coolly. The Blade of Woe in her hand was humming with anticipation- it loved the taste of blood more than Babette, and that feeling was enough for her to confidently continue the dance without fear. "And you will be too. But not before you tell me who paid you to attack my Guild."

"Think I need to get paid? Your guild is worthless, and it was only a matter of time before someone puts you down! And as soon as I finish you and your partner off, I will end the rest of them!"

She furrowed her eyebrows in a brief moment of confusion. He was telling the truth, no one paid him to do anything, he was acting out of his own arrogance.

Then there was no purpose in delaying it.

Her free hand got out a small white vial from one of her many pockets. She jumped a step away from the arrogant elf and pulled the cork out with her teeth.

"Cheers," she smiled, drinking the contents.

Invisibility was a funny feeling. The potion itself tasted like bitterness and cold, like she swallowed a mouthful of snow. That feeling started spreading through her body as soon as it hit her throat and all the way down to her stomach, moving along her bloodstream almost instantly. And then, there was just the feelingof weightlessness and slight euphoria. And still, the _cold. _She had to tell Babette to find something other than ice wraith teeth to add to her potions, though the girl was always understandably averse to using vampire dust instead.

Fifteen seconds.

She moved quickly, ducking under the blind slash of his blade.

She caught a glimpse of Brynjolf as he opened the throat of one of the elves, and without pausing his momentum, turned to the other. Him and Vex were two of the best fighters in the Thieves Guild, it was common knowledge amongst them, and she did not worry about him, instead focusing on the Linwe.

That was harder than she anticipated… she had eight more seconds of invisibility, and the grave robber was smarted than she gave him credit for: instead of trying to stab thin air, he retreated into the dining hall. She instinctively followed him, and only then realized that he drove her through the doorway for easier picking.

His knife grazed her side, and the invisibility popped like a soap bubble. Her blood came off on his blade.

Léta took a leap away from him, her empty hand coming up to clutch at the side of her stomach.

"Worthless," Linwe repeated with maniacal glee. She really must have pissed him off, he was obviously losing his last nerve. She glared at him, and then leaned onto the wall, gasping with pain, and began to slowly slide down. "That would be the poison. It'll work too slow, so I think I'll just finish you off now…"

When Brynjolf came into the room, Léta was already digging through the chest where the Shadows piled all their loot. She was in the process of appraising the circlet in her hands, studying it critically as though trying to figure out if it was worth carrying or not. Linwe's body was in the corner, his mouth gaping open in a final surprise, his hand still clutching at his throat.

"Arrogant idiot," she muttered. "When you buy poisons, don't be cheap, Brynjolf."

"You alright?" he asked her.

"Yeah, he grazed me, but it's superficial," she shrugged. "He didn't know that, though. Copper, jade, no mark of maker," she muttered, tossing the circlet into her bag. "Hm."

Her partner picked up the blade that dropped from Linwe's hand, and sniffed it. The smell of burnt sugar hit his nose, and he grimaced. "And the poison?"

"Please, I have a Master Alchemist in my family," she shrugged. "She pours poison and spell resistance down my throat every two weeks. Tastes like sewage, but it's worth it."

"I'll say," he chuckled. "Found anything worthwhile in there?"

"Only what you'd expect from grave robbers who specialize in butchered maidens. Oh, here it is…" She lifted a silver locket on a thin chair from the chest. "What should we do with the rest?"

"Take what we can carry, leave the rest and tell Delvin about. He'll have someone clean it out properly."

"Sounds good." She nodded, picking up her bag.

"We wanted to question him," he reminded her suddenly, glancing sideways at the corpse.

"Pointless. If someone stroke a deal with him, they cleaned their trail. He was convinced that the attack on our guild was completely his idea."

"And you couldn't break whatever illusion they had on him?"

"You're forgetting the fact that I'm an amateur at magic. What I can do equals to the cheap tricks that amuse children on the streets. If it really was the Thalmor, then it's way out of my league."

"So not one of your contacts could…?"

"Dead, dead, across Tamriel, and dead. Besides, it's too late now. Come on, let's get out of here before the situation gets any more complicated. Your bad feelings make me paranoid."

"We contained the situation, and everything went a lot more smoothly than I-"

"Don't say that!" she hissed at him suddenly. "Every time someone says that, something lands right on top of our heads!"

"Really?" he cocked an eyebrow, amused. But she was serious.

"The second I got out of the fortress in Solitude, I thought that, and then the damned Watchdogs swooped in and raided the sanctuary! And before that, when Mercer and I were hunting Karliah!"

"So, what, you think the Thalmor are about to swoop in?" he was starting to get a little worried now, as well. They both subconsciously sped up through the halls, retracing their steps. "You don't think this was a diversion or something, do you?"

"No, even without us, the rest can hold their ground. But this entire damned job felt as though someone was watching our backs and contemplating where to better stab the blade."

"We should split up, then," he nodded. "If there is a tail, we can ditch it on our own."

She nodded in agreement, the logic being very sound. The job was done, united force was no longer necessary, and alone she could very well lead another merry chase across the country without problem.

"I'll head back to Windhelm to return the trinket, and then to Riften to announce business as usual," Brynjolf threw one last glance around the main staircase of the fortress before catching up to her in the ice caves. They didn't bother sneaking now, their paranoia simply driving them to get as far away from the hideout as possible.

"And I'll return to-

Only a few steps away from the final door, her voice suddenly trailed off into a strangled moan of surprise.

It wasn't the Thalmor that dropped on their heads this time.


End file.
